


Strange Stars

by Jael (erynlasgalen1949)



Category: Lord of the Rings - J. R. R. Tolkien
Genre: F/M, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-01-23
Updated: 2012-02-03
Packaged: 2017-10-30 00:52:23
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 12
Words: 34,144
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/325963
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/erynlasgalen1949/pseuds/Jael
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p><i>Oh, Aragorn; the things I do for you . . .</i> Legolas journeys to Harad on an unusual diplomatic mission. How far will he go in the interests of peace? Legolas; Aragorn; Arwen; Original Characters. Rated a hard R for graphic male/female and male/male sexuality.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. An Immodest Proposal

**Author's Note:**

> **Disclaimer:** This is a work of derivative fiction based on the characters and world of JRR Tolkien. I merely borrow them for a time, for my own enjoyment and, I hope, that of my readers. I am making no money from this endeavor. Beta readers for this story are IgnobleBard and Lexin, with special thanks to Oshun and Darth Fingon.

  
[   
](http://pics.livejournal.com/jael_beruthiel/pic/0000wgpq/)   
[   
](http://pics.livejournal.com/jael_beruthiel/pic/0000hwre/)   


  


  
**Strange Stars**   


**Chapter One: An Immodest Proposal**

 _"But at my back I always hear  
Time's wingèd chariot hurrying near;   
And yonder all before us lie   
Deserts of vast eternity."_

 _Andrew Marvell, 'To His Coy Mistress'_

"In the name of Manwe's mighty winds! What, Aragorn, is that?"

Legolas Thranduilion had been known by several names and descriptions throughout his immortal life -- Prince of Mirkwood, later Eryn Lasgalen, Legolas of the Nine Walkers, Elven-lord of Ithilien -- but the one dearest to him was Legolas, friend, boon companion, and frequent guest of Elessar Telcontar, King of Gondor. This last, he was now, and perhaps the abundance of wine at the king's table, always the best, had caused him to speak with greater than usual candor.

"That, my old friend, is Master Barlomi, who has lately come to my court. Barlomi is . . . an entertainer."

Legolas turned to his left and raised an eyebrow at the strained tone in Aragorn's voice. It was not like his old friend to beat around the bush in such a way. From Aragorn's other side, Legolas heard Arwen give an audible sniff. Although it was winter in Minas Tirith, the great dining hall of the king was toasty warm from the assembled bodies and from fires that burned in the hearths at either end of the vast chamber. Yet, Legolas had felt a definite chill emanating from the queen's side of the table all evening. He had thought perhaps that the Lady Undomiel's displeasure arose from the fact that table manners in Minas Tirith were not quite up to Rivendell standards. As he looked across the table, Legolas could see Beregond picking his teeth with his knife, another courtier was wiping his nose on his sleeve, and earlier in the evening one of the captains from Cair Andros had actually hoisted up one side of his body to scratch his left buttock. This was nothing new to Legolas, who had been a frequent visitor to Laketown and Dale, but he could well understand how such things might be annoying to an elf-woman unused to the more relaxed deportment of Mannish society. He realized that his own blasphemous outburst had probably not helped matters either.

"I could tell he is an entertainer, Aragorn, by the musical instrument he carried. What is that, some kind of lute? And he plays it well. But he seems to be dressed rather . . . provocatively."

Provocatively was an understatement. The young man in question wore skin tight breeches, which would not have been all that remarkable, as Legolas himself was wearing tight breeches, but these breeches were not covered below the waist by any sort of tunic or robe. A light silk shirt was tucked into the trousers, and that shirt lay open to mid chest. As Legolas watched, the young man cast a coquettish glance at one of Aragorn's councilors.

"What is more, Aragorn, he seems to have painted his face."

"Barlomi is from Harad," Aragorn replied evenly. "It is the custom there to wear kohl around the eyes."

"I was referring, Aragorn, to the fact that he has colored his lips. And that he is flirting with your minister."

Aragorn sighed. "Not here, Legolas, not now. Barlomi is the reason I invited you to spend the Yule with us here at Minas Tirith. But we will speak of that later."

The meal had ended. Aragorn rose and bowed to the assembled nobles. Arwen took his arm -- very gingerly, Legolas noticed -- and the three of them proceeded from the hall. Behind them, the music of Barlomi's lute began anew.

"Legolas, will you take a walk in the garden with me?" Aragorn said. "I would like to discuss something with you. My dear, will you give us leave?"

Arwen nodded curtly and swept off up the great stairway. Legolas raised an eyebrow as he watched her depart. "Is the honey-time over, my friend?"

Aragorn shook his head. "It is not that."

"Ah, well," Legolas said. "Women often become strangely moody when they are with child, or so my father tells me. I would know nothing of that myself, of course."

"It is not that either," Aragorn said. "Come, Legolas. Take the air with me."

Gondor in the winter had almost no snow, just an endless rainy season, or so it seemed to Legolas. The grey skies and wet weather were enough to lower the spirits of even such merry folk as the elves. Legolas sighed. At home in Mirkwood -- no, Eryn Lasgalen, he reminded himself -- the snow would be a foot thick on the ground and Thranduil's halls would be decked out with evergreen boughs and holly berries, and the air would be fragrant with the scent of burning pine logs. Back in Ithilien, Legolas's elves had gathered such winter greenery as they were able to find, but it was simply not the same.

This was one of the few nights when it was not raining, and the air felt as mild as a Mirkwood spring. The dampness or the chill in the king's private garden did not trouble Legolas, but he wondered if Aragorn might be feeling it. They sat on a stone bench behind a hedge of yews.

"Why are we out here in the dark and the cold rather than in your study?" Legolas asked bluntly.

"The very walls have ears," Aragorn said, "and what I am about to tell you needs must be kept between us. It involves the young man from Harad, in case you have not already guessed."

Thranduil having raised no fools, Legolas of course had guessed this. He waited patiently for his friend to continue.

"Last month, Barlomi arrived quite unexpectedly with a letter of introduction stating that his presence in my court was a gift, with the compliments of King Khorlai of Harad. I have been trying to establish diplomatic relations with that country for several years without any success. Thanks to the lies of Sauron and a long history of enmity between our two peoples, Khorlai does not trust Gondor in any way, much less its new king. He has refused to accept my ambassadors in his land."

"One can hardly blame him," Legolas said. "I doubt he has forgotten that Gondor once held Harad subject and forced the sons of the rulers of Harad to live as hostages in the court of the king."

Aragorn shrugged. "That was long ago, in the time of Hyarmendacil."

"It was an infamy, Aragorn. Separating child from parent, and compelling submission through threats to loved ones is a tactic more suited to The Enemy than the noble Men of the West. No wonder Harad fell prey to the blandishments of the servants of Sauron."

"You deem it so, my friend?" Aragorn seemed surprised.

Legolas shrugged. "I've no doubt the men of Harad deem it so. When war destroys the crops and the people go hungry, or when the house burns with wife and children inside it, it would matter little to a man whether the deed was done by the evil servants of Sauron or the noble folk of Gondor."

"I understand that all too well," Aragorn replied. "Even more so because I journeyed to Harad in years past, and I have lived among them in secret. So you see, I am in no position to insult the king by refusing his gift. He has made an overture that may lead to peace between us if I make the right moves."

"So far, I understand. Or at least I think I do," Legolas said. "Why would you wish to refuse this gift?"

Aragorn made an unhappy noise. "Legolas, Barlomi is more than a singer. He is a . . . a . . ."

"A courtesan?" Legolas finished gently. At Aragorn's look of surprise he laughed. 'For pity's sake, Estel, I am hundreds of years old. My father is thousands. It is not as if we have not seen what mortals do, and seen it many times over. Very little shocks an elf. I merely wondered why you had such a one in your court, and now I understand. No wonder Arwen is out of temper."

"Alas, Legolas, you do not understand. It is more complicated than that." Aragorn let out a sigh. "The custom in Harad is that when a gift is given, it is the polite, nay, the expected thing to give one in return. In kind."

"In kind? Hmm, well that does complicate things," Legolas said.

"I need to find someone to send in return, or risk insulting Khorlai even further," Aragorn said, "and there is no one in Gondor who fulfills the requirements."

"Gondor has no harlots; Gondor needs no harlots," said Legolas gaily.

"You are not making this any easier, my friend," Aragorn sighed. "But you are right."

"Aragorn, have you been down to the docks at Harlond recently? However, I do see your predicament. The poor trulls who meet the boats in no wise resemble Master Barlomi."

"Yes. To be a _bêthnaru_ , as they are called in Harad, requires a person of great beauty. It requires the strictest standards of manners and person; someone with accomplishments in music and able to hold a witty conversation."

Legolas thought back to the evening meal, the hall filled with grim, bearded Dúnedain and stout Gondorian nobles scratching their behinds. "I would say you have a problem, Aragorn. For I know of no one in your realm who fits that description."

Aragorn made no answer to this. He merely continued to stare balefully.

" _Ai núath!_ You cannot be serious!" Legolas exclaimed.

"That is exactly what Arwen said when I first broached the subject. And when I persisted in it to the point of inviting you here to discuss the matter, she . . . Well, I regret to inform you that I am, at present, sleeping in my dressing room."

"I hate to be the cause of domestic discord," Legolas said. "But Arwen has a point. I refuse to become anyone's slave. Much less a slave of that nature, no matter how needful the cause."

"Legolas, Barlomi assures me that he is not a slave. He is a free man who holds a position of some respect in his own land. Officially at least, his services do not involve, er, special favors of the bedchamber. And indeed, none of them do here in this realm. Here and at home, he serves as an entertainer and an ornament to the court."

"He 'is' very ornamental," Legolas said dryly. "And needing a person of this sort, you of course thought of me. Ai, Aragorn, I do not know whether to feel flattered, or to throttle you!"

"You will have to throttle someone else," Aragorn replied, "for the idea was not mine originally. It was Gimli's."

Now it was Legolas's turn to be surprised. "Gimli? I shall be having a word with Master Dwarf when next I see him. I wonder what made him think of me?"

"Well, you do have a lovely singing voice," said Aragorn. "And you have shown a genius for evading amorous overtures without causing offense."

"I rather think it is Gimli having his revenge on me," Legolas laughed. "He has always insisted that I am far too serious for my own good when it comes to these matters. A dwarf will never understand an elf when it comes to love."

Aragorn smiled and then grew solemn. "Legolas, you are my oldest and dearest friend. You have no idea how deeply it grieves me to make such a request of you, but the need is dire. I wish to avoid future war with Harad, and this is a chance to do that very thing. Harad distrusts us, with reason, as you have said. This is an opportunity for us to show our quality, which is why you, above all, are an ideal choice. Beauty and accomplishment aside, you are a noble and decent being. They will see this in Harad, and perhaps they will be more willing to treat with us on a political level rather than the more . . . informal. But truly, Legolas, the one who goes to Harad need not actually be a _bêthnaru_ ; he must merely pose as one. I would not consider sending you otherwise."

"When you put it that way, Aragorn, how can I refuse? What could be more important than the welfare of Gondor and its people?"

"Only your dignity," said Aragorn grimly.

Legolas gazed sadly upon his old friend. Between Aragorn's brows he saw the deep worry pucker that had graced Thranduil's face so often in memory. Legolas had no doubt that since he had come to rule his own realm, those same lines were beginning to mark his forehead as well. "Alas, Estel, I wonder if I did right by you, helping you to gain the throne of Gondor. You and Arwen would have been much happier running in the wild, living life as a simple ranger and his lady."

Aragorn sighed. "Quite true, my friend. But such was not to be."

"I warned you once, long ago, that it would not be all bright banners flowing." Where was the small boy so full of childlike hope, the boy he had promised to protect so many years ago, Legolas wondered? Gone, like the melting snows of a hundred years past; like the fallen leaves of many autumns. But the aging, careworn man before him remained, and so did the pledge. Legolas took a deep breath. "Very well, Aragorn." He paused as his friend's eyes widened in surprise, and held up a hand. "I make no promises. But I will have a talk with this Barlomi tomorrow. I have many questions . . ."

* * * * * * *

 _To be continued . . ._


	2. The Courtesan's Story

_"Every Harlot was a Virgin once . . .  
The Son of Morn in weary Night's decline,  
The lost Traveller's Dream under the Hill." _

_'To The Accuser Who Is The God Of This World' by William Blake_

 

"And what would an elf ask of a one such as myself?" The tone in the young man's voice was teasing, seductive. 

Legolas stood in the parlour of a house on the sixth level. He had seen a brief moment of surprise flash over Barlomi's face when he lowered his hood to reveal himself. He had then felt the young man's gaze upon him, the dark eyes running up and down his body, the pupils dilating when they found a part to the mortal's liking. Evidently, he was finding much to like.

Legolas was quite used to this kind of intimate scrutiny by mortals, from the females and the males both. It had made him uncomfortable for a time when he first ventured out into the world of Men as a much younger elf, but he rarely let it bother him now. 

"Conversation, Master Barlomi," Legolas said, serenely. 

"No other form of . . . intercourse then? A song perhaps? My tongue has other uses than mere idle talk." 

Legolas could not forbear a slight smile. "No. No other intercourse. Information is what I seek today. I will pay you for your time." 

The young man shrugged. "Whatever you wish, my lord. I am always at leisure to a friend of the king's." 

Legolas sighed. So much for anonymity. He would lay his cards out upon the table then. Observation of his father had taught Legolas that candor could be a useful negotiating tactic at times, and indeed, Legolas was far more skilled at honesty than he was at guile. "Master Barlomi, I first need to know if I may rely upon your discretion." 

The young man tilted his dark head. "Those who come to me seek to unburden their minds as often as they seek to unburden their loins. I hold this trust as sacred as if I were Holy Man or Healer. Whatever they may be, your secrets are safe with me, Prince." 

"I see you know who and what I am. And so you may understand my reticence." 

"Indeed," the young man said. "I know it is said that tales of lust are seldom told about you _Nimîr._ It was the 'seldom' that intrigued me. I had hoped that you came to me today hoping to have more than your ear filled. Your long unmarried state has not gone unremarked by the folk of Elessar's court. Nor has your close friendship with the king. It made me wonder." 

Legolas shook his head and laughed inwardly. Knowing the proclivities of his own father's folk, where no elf's business was his own and Thranduil's own butler Galion was among the worst of the gossipers, Legolas had known there must inevitably be talk, but he had hoped it might be otherwise among the august folk of Gondor. Evidently not. "This is not an unusual thing among my people." 

"Liking boys?" 

Now Legolas laughed aloud. This _bêthnaru_ was a man nimble on his verbal feet. "No -- marrying late. For us, the bonding of _faer_ is a serious matter, and it takes however long it takes. And for some, it will take until the end of all things, for they are not called to the opposite, merely the same. We call that 'turning to the east,' and whether it is done as a way of life or a mere temporary expediency, my folk look aside and pretend not to notice." 

'And are you, Prince, eastward turned?" 

Legolas shook his head. "No, westward, whence came a woman with raven hair and grey eyes. She would not have me, and it will be long ere I forget her." 

"Then, why are you here in my house? To titillate yourself with the salacious details of my days and nights? If that is so, I acquiesce. But you will pay for that pleasure, my lord, just as if you pleased yourself with my body." 

"Call me Legolas, for I would speak to you as one man does to another. I will be plain; King Elessar wishes to send me to Harad in return for you, and I must know certain details before I give him an answer." 

Legolas watched as a wide grin split Barlomi's face, the first honest emotion he had seen the young man evince. "Oh, I wondered who he would find to send! I could not fail to notice that the pickings here are very slim. Poor King Elessar! You should have seen his face when I proffered my letter of introduction to him and he realised his dilemma." The young Southron's laughter was deep and throaty, quite opposite to his previous manner of carefully studied seduction. 

Legolas's light silvery laughter joined him. "You should have seen his face when he made the proposal to me. Poor Aragorn!" 

"Well, this was not how I had envisioned spending my afternoon," Barlomi said, "but I am game for it. Be seated, my . . . er, Legolas, and we will talk. May I offer you a glass of wine? The wine here in Gondor is not so fine as that made from the sweet white grapes of my homeland, but it is quite pleasant to the palate." 

Legolas took a passing interest at the mention of wine, for he was always on the lookout for vintages to recommend to his father. "A glass of wine would be delightful, although I confess that what I would most like is the dark ale that the dwarves favor." 

Barlomi laughed again. "Truly? As it happens, I have developed a taste for it lately, and keep a supply of it about for myself and certain guests. I will join you in a glass." He rang for a servant, and a stolid Gondorian appeared. Legolas judged the manservant to be a former soldier, since he walked with a pronounced limp and had a bearing that could only be described as military. 

"Very well, Legolas," Barlomi said, once the tankards of ale had been brought and set down before them, "what is it that you need to know?" 

Legolas cleared his throat. Suddenly he had no idea of how to begin. "I must learn the requirements of your trade, Master Barlomi, for I need to know if I can pose convincingly as a _bêthnaru_ in your land without . . . without . . . " 

"Without dishonoring yourself? Nay, do not show me that face, for I am not offended by the term. I have heard worse." He laughed. "What you need to know is, can you play the role of _bêthnaru_ convincingly and yet preserve your chastity." 

Legolas nodded. "You put your finger on it." 

"With the women, it will be no problem for in my homeland a lady's body must be kept sacrosanct for her husband. Even if the lady have no husband in the past, present or future." 

"Would you be a bit more plain, my friend?" said Legolas. 

"No penetration," Barlomi said, bluntly. "But there are other things allowed." 

Legolas laughed. "Just like home. It seems unfair to the ladies, though." 

Barlomi made a face. "Since when has life ever been fair?" 

"And the lords?" 

"That may be more difficult." 

"Must you submit yourself then?" 

The young man shrugged. "I 'must' do nothing. Nor would you be forced to do anything against your will should you undertake this ruse. Officially, our job is to be a pleasant guest at the court of whatever patron hosts us, to sing a song or two of an evening and show ourselves attentive in conversation. Whatever happens later, in private, is entirely at our own discretion." 

Legolas nodded. "This is not too very different to my duties at home in my father's court. Minus the private session, of course." 

The young man shrugged. "You may decline the private invitations, if you wish. But no bêthnaru with that attitude retires rich. And we all wish to amass wealth against the day when our charms must fade and the admirers grow few and their gifts less generous." He sighed. "Of course, you are the son of a rich king, born to privilege. And your charms will never fade. Even so, to be believed as a _bêthnaru_ , you will need to give the illusion of being one who shares favors. You may even have to share a few in reality. It would look rather strange, otherwise." 

"That is what gives me pause," Legolas admitted. "To be compelled in fleshly matters is against the very nature of my folk." 

Barlomi shook his head. "It is not that way. The joys of love rest not so much here," he gestured at his groin, "but here," he said, tapping his head. "If the lords and ladies could order us to our backs or our knees with a snap of the fingers, where would be the sport? Where would be the thrill of the seduction and the satisfaction when we yield? Nay, my job is to give my patrons the illusion of being desired as much as they desire me. For some this is not a difficult task, for they are folk pleasant to look upon and lie with. For the others? Well . . . I deem that they need the illusion most of all." 

"Have you ever had to refuse a patron?" 

The young man sighed. "Once. I have done much, for the right price, but there are some things . . ." He shook his head. "I was not punished for it. The only consequence was that I was no longer in that lord's favor ever after, and it cost me his generosity. You may be asked to do things that are distasteful to you, Legolas, but you will never be forced. And you will never be put into a situation where you have not at least a choice. I cannot promise you, though, that either choice will be to your liking." 

Something about the young man's manner made Legolas pause. "I would know, Barlomi, what makes a man turn to such a life." 

The Southron threw back his dark head and struck a languorous pose. "Look at me, my friend; how finely made I am. I was not born to spend all my days staring at the back end of a bullock as I plowed a field. To end up old before my time like my father, who can barely rise from his bed of a morning from the pain in his bones. Or like my brother, who went for a soldier and came home with a limp and missing three of his fingers. Or like my other brother, who came home not at all." 

He shrugged. "You fear loss of dignity, Legolas, but there are many other kinds of slavery that the son of a rich man would not understand. For me, this profession was a way out; a chance for freedom and respect that is not usually given the son of a peasant. I live well. I laugh and jest with kings and nobles. My parents at last have enough food to eat and a house to spend their final years in comfort. My sisters have, thanks to me, dowries that will allow them to marry the sort of men who will treat them well, rather than as beasts of burden. If what I have to do to achieve this is dishonor, then I am happy to dishonor myself. It seems but a small price to pay." 

"Was it a sacrifice, then, to be sent north to a court that does not engage in such practices?" 

Again, Barlomi dissolved in laughter, slapping his thighs such that Legolas could see the son of the peasant farmer shining through beneath the veneer of the sophisticated bêthnaru. "How little you know, my elvish friend! I have done far better here in Gondor than ever I did in Harad. And you would be surprised at some of my admirers. They are all so very grateful here, to have a chance to grasp at a little beauty. At the end of a mere two years, I shall have amassed enough fortune to go home and retire. I shall take Belegund here with me." Legolas saw the brusque Gondorian soldier flush as Barlomi caressed his hand as he refilled the ale mugs, and he smiled to sense how things were between the two men. "I will live the life of a gentleman, and it will be some other fellow staring at the backside of a bullock. But it will be my bullock and my field he is plowing." 

"I would I had your pragmatic attitude, my friend," Legolas said. "But I go to Harad for a different reason -- if I decide to go at all. Knowing what you do, do you think I can bring the deception off successfully?" 

Barlomi eyed him speculatively. "Of all that Elessar might have chosen, you have the best chance at it. You look the part. To reveal who told me this would be indiscreet, but it is said you have a skill at evading amorous snares that is worthy of a woodland creature." 

Legolas smiled and sipped his ale. "That is because I 'am' a woodland creature." 

"You are more than that, my friend. You are a consummate diplomat, as we all must be. I believe the word genius was used. Even so, this mission would require all your skill and cunning if you intend to return home . . . untouched." 

Legolas drained his glass and rose. "I must take my leave of you. I have much to ponder. But I thank you for your time and your candor, Master Barlomi." He held out a gold coin. 

Barlomi shook his head. "You spoke to me today as one man to another. An equal. It is a gift I rarely get. For once, let this be my pleasure." 

Legolas returned the gold piece to his pocket and nodded gravely. He held out his empty palm to Barlomi. 

The young man clasped it warmly. "Whatever your decision, Legolas, I wish you well."

* * * 

"I'll do it." 

Aragorn looked up from his desk in grateful surprise. "Legolas, I do not know what to say . . ." 

Legolas held up his hand. "I will do it on one condition -- that no whisper if this ever reaches the ears of my father." 

"Tell Thranduil that I have convinced his son to pose as a prostitute? I can well understand why you would wish that kept secret." 

"No," Legolas laughed. "Not that. Although if he ever finds out about that you are on your own. I mean the fact that I can play the harp." Aragorn flashed him a bemused look. " _Adar_ always wanted me to be a bard or some other peaceful thing. I did not want to be peaceful, so I stubbornly refused to learn every musical instrument he tried to have me instructed in. Glavras finally taught me how to play a harp while we were out on patrol, but I would never give my father the satisfaction of letting him know that. If he should find out now, I am in deep trouble." 

Aragorn solemnly crossed his lips with his fingertip. "Not a word, my friend. Not one single word."

* * * * * * * 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> **Translations:**  
>  _Nimîr:_ Adunaic for Beautiful Ones, Elves.  
>  _bêthnaru:_ Adunaic for courtesan or 'geisha,' literally, 'conversation man.'  
>  _faer_ : Sindarin for spirits or fëar


	3. Stranger In a Strange Land

_"The minstrel boy to the war is gone,  
In the ranks of death you will find him.   
His father's sword he hath girded on,   
His wild harp strung behind him. _

_'Land of songs,' says the warrior bard,  
'Though all the world betrays thee,   
One sword at last thy rights shall guard;   
One faithful harp shall praise thee.'"   
Thomas Moore (1779-1852) _

 

Legolas stood on the narrow deck and listened to the song of the oarsmen as the tiny craft made its way up the Harnen. The sea, with its tormenting odor of salt and the cry of the birds lay behind him. 

"Are you sure it is wise to go by water?" Aragorn had asked him back when the plan was made for Legolas to take ship to Tolfalas and find passage thence down the coast.

Legolas had shaken his head. "The Harad road is still in disrepair and not safe, even for me. I have heard the gulls already, Aragorn, and the damage is done. It cannot get much worse." 

Even so, as the ship that carried him from Harlond had cleared the delta of the Anduin, Legolas had felt the roll of the waves as a tugging in the pit of his belly, calling him west, and he had gone below to lie rigid and staring in his bunk, taking no food or rest until the ship had beat its way down the coast to the mouth of the Harnen. He had staggered ashore, looking like death itself, gaining curious looks from the natives until he had found passage on a boat going upriver. 

Some day, he told himself, he would give in to the call of the boundless ocean. But this was not that day. 

He understood the language now. It had not been much of a problem, since the folk of Harad spoke a dialect of Westron. Aragorn, who had lived among the Southrons and was versed in their tongue, had managed to school him in the minor differences of speech in less than two weeks. 

Those two weeks had been spent in other learning as well. Some of it took place with Barlomi, who had filled him in on the background at Khorlai's court. 

"There is little else I can teach you, my friend," Barlomi had said. "You are more than polished in your manners and your person already, so there is nothing I can add. They will love you in Harad, make no mistake. My only fear is that they will love you too much." 

"And I will be hard pressed to fend off the attention?" Legolas asked. 

"Well, yes, that will be a problem," Barlomi had laughed. "But I meant you might arouse jealousy in others. Make certain you take no food or drink from your fellow _bêthnari._ Most often it takes the form of a purgative to make you so disgustingly ill that your patron of the evening will have a distaste for you thereafter. But occasions of fatal poisoning are not unheard of." 

"I shall be on my guard," Legolas had said. Of course, as the son of a king, Legolas had always been careful of what he ate and drank. He and Thranduil had few known enemies, but better safe than sorry. "How will I know the _bêthnari_ from the courtiers?" 

"I think it will be obvious. But if it is not, you will know them by the mark. Have you decided what yours is to be?" 

Here had come the first serious drawback, one which had almost made Legolas back out upon learning that it was customary for the _bêthnari_ to mark their skins with a symbol of the ruler they served. 

"I fail to see the problem, Legolas," Aragorn had said. "It is just a tattoo. Many of the Gondorians have them, and I have seen that your own father wears one." 

Legolas had shaken his head and made no reply. True, his own father bore marks, but Aragorn could not have known the significance of them to a Silvan. Much less the spot where he was being asked to place his own. In the end, after much thought, he had decided to go ahead. The cause was too important to be derailed by his own private scruples. 

An artist skilled in such decorations of the body had been found; one discreet enough to hold his tongue. Although Legolas had learned to his surprise, that the Seal of Elessar had become a popular tattoo among the soldiers and captains of Gondor, and the man never batted an eye as he applied the blue ink to the elf's body and pricked it in with a sharp quill. Evidently the man had seen nothing amiss in the idea that the king's brother in arms might wish to wear his symbol, prince in his own right though he might be. 

Legolas scratched at it absently. The tattoo was still fresh enough to itch, although to non-elven eyes it looked long healed. Once this was all over, a few minutes alone with his knife, and it would be gone, healing without a scar within a year. 

There had been some things that Barlomi might have been able to teach Legolas, had he not been too bashful to ask. Legolas was not innocent about the facts of fleshly love, no elf could be. As a youngster, experiencing the first changes of his body before his coming of age, Legolas had been given the standard instructional scroll for young elves, _'The Great Delight and Joy of Huithad,'_ to read and absorb. 

"And when you have finished," Thranduil had said after handing it to him gruffly, "come to me for the real story." This, he had done, and Thranduil had enlightened him in refreshingly blunt terms. However, Legolas had later discovered that his father had left a few gaps in the education, once he got out on patrol for the first time and learned that it was the lot of soldiers to ignore noises in the night, along with what those noises might mean. More reading, this time in secret, had filled in those gaps. The love of Warriors was now within his ken, if not within his practical experience. 

And yet, Legolas knew that there still remained some gaps that needed filling, given that mortals could get up to some rather astounding things -- things that might not occur to an elf. This in mind, he had betaken himself to the Great Library of Gondor, calmly stating his request to the bemused librarian. He had been escorted deep into the archives and left alone for a while with certain scrolls usually left under lock and key. 

He had emerged several hours later, paler than usual and walking rather stiffly, with the realization that he owed Aragorn an apology. It was indeed possible to shock an elf. However, forewarned is forearmed, and Legolas now felt ready to venture into the world of the _bêthnari_ with his amatory arsenal complete. 

A burst of blue startled Legolas from his reverie, as a heron took flight from a clump of rushes at the riverbank. He smiled in old memory. So this was where they came! He remembered a time, almost a century gone, asking a young Aragorn to discover where the herons went in winter and to bring him back the report of it. And now he was seeing the land for himself. Would the very stars be strange when night fell? Legolas made himself a promise to look. 

And Aragorn! How he had changed from the young, lovesick lad of twenty who had shared a skin of wine and a night of star gazing with Legolas so long ago, speculating on the migration of birds to far off lands. Friendship with mortals drove home the passage of time in a way most elves did not ever appreciate. 

The last time he had seen Aragorn's face it had been grim, as the king and his family had bade Legolas farewell at the docks at Harlond. " _Le hannon,_ my friend," Aragorn had said. "Had there been any other way, I would not have asked this of you." 

Legolas had laughed. "You are most welcome, but perhaps you should save your gratitude for my return. Until then, Estel, do not worry about me. I can take care of myself." 

Arwen had stepped forward then. "Give us leave, will you, my love? This time, I would be the one to speak to our friend in private." Aragorn had nodded and wandered off to stare nobly out over the flowing waters of the Anduin. 

"Legolas, are you quite sure of this?" 

"As sure as I can be, under the circumstances." 

She frowned. He had almost laughed then, for she had looked quite the spitting image of Elrond at his most vexed. "I am not. Great king of men though Aragorn may be, he is not an elf. He has no idea what he asks of you. Nor do you have any idea of what you will face, young Thranduilion." 

"Kindly resist the temptation to behave as if you are my _naneth,_ Arwen," he had said. "You may be my elder by many _ennin,_ but I am no innocent. Have I not been able to elude the romantic snares of all of your ladies in waiting -- and a fair share of the lords as well?" 

Her brows knitted further. "That may not prove to be so easy while proclaiming yourself to be had for a price and wearing my husband's mark upon your breast. I fear for you, Legolas." 

He had let his voice go quiet then. "As do I. But how can I not, given what is at stake for Gondor, and my own land as well?" He smiled and dropped his eyes to Arwen's swelling waist. "Think of this as an early Begetting Day gift. That this little one may never have to know the horrors of war."   
    
He kissed her lightly on the tip of her nose and went up the gangplank. At the top he turned and raised a hand in farewell to both of them, for Aragorn had rejoined his queen. "I feel so naked without my bow!" he had said with a parting grin.

And naked he felt now, although he bore the weight of a harp slung across his back in its place. He carried no weapon other than a small knife at his belt, but Legolas rested secure in the knowledge that one Mirkwood warrior, barehanded, was more deadly than a fully armed Southron on a _Mûmak._

Only one more question nagged at his mind. He needed a name, for he could hardly march into Khorlai's palace and announce himself as Legolas Thranduilion, harlot at large. So far none had presented itself. Failing some final insight, he intended to call himself Galion, son of merriment, although he hated to do so, for his father's long-suffering butler deserved better than that, having already more than his share of tribulations in life. 

The riverboat bumped against the quayside. Legolas found himself in a city of mud bricks and white stone, past which the sluggish waters of the Harnen flowed. He stepped up onto the stone dock, squinting in the bright light. He understood the practicality of kohl now, for even with the hood of his cloak up, the reflection of his own fair cheeks was near to blinding him in the relentless sun. His lips felt parched as well in the dry heat, and he thought he might be painting them before long. 

He strode though the dusty streets, a tall figure among the shorter brown-skinned folk, smiling serenely at the curious stares of dark eyes, and pausing once or twice to ask directions. At the doors of the most imposing structure in the town, he showed his letter, bearing the seal of Gondor, to the guards and was granted admittance after being patted down most thoroughly and relieved of his knife. 

The exteriors of the buildings in this strange land had seemed bleak, but the marble halls through which he was led were dark and cool, inlaid with designs of colored stones. Legolas passed through courtyards filled with lush greenery, in which fountains plashed, giving soothing music to the ear and lending moisture to the air. At last he found himself before carven doors of dark wood overlaid with bands of shining copper, and he entered the audience hall. 

At the far end of the chamber, on a raised dais, sat Khorlai himself. Legolas threw back his hood and approached confidently, noting the dilation of the king's dark pupils as he looked him over. The ruler of Harad was a well made man, above middle age and well above middle height, with dark skin and black hair twisted into a myriad of tiny braids held by golden beads. 

In that moment, Legolas had a blinding flash of inspiration. It would be perfect; a name both describing himself and dealing some well deserved retribution upon those who had slain his kin. As his father was fond of saying, revenge was a dish best enjoyed cold. He took a deep breath for courage. 

Khorlai looked down his hawk-like nose. "You are from Gondor? Have I not said repeatedly that I will have none of Gondor's ambassadors in my land?" 

"I am no ambassador," said Legolas, sweeping back his cloak to reveal his bare chest, where the seal of Gondor's new king, an eagle clutching a bright jewel in its talon, was tattooed above his heart. He dropped to one knee and bowed his head. "My lord, I am Maitimo . . . Courtesan to the House of Elessar Telcontar." 

* * * * * * * 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> **Translations:**  
>  _Huithad:_ Sindarin for the marital act, lovemaking.  
>  _ennin:_ Long-years, the Sindarin equivalent of _yeni,_ 144 years.  
>  _bêthnari:_ Plural of _bêthnaru,_ the courtesans.  
>  Maitimo: Quenya for 'Well-made,' the nickname of Maedhros, eldest and handsomest son of Feanor.


	4. The Cheek of Night

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Legolas eases into the life of a courtesan, and we meet some of the members of Khorlai's court . . .

_"Beauty too rich for use; for earth too dear . . . "_

_Wm Shakespeare, Romeo & Juliet_  
  

 

"Sing us a song, beautiful one!" 

"Yes, sing for us, Maitimo!" 

From his seat at the low table, Legolas could hear the voices of the courtiers encouraging him, urging him on. He felt like a fish out of water. The food was strange. The manner of dress was strange, with its loose, revealing silks and bright colors. Burning incense in brazen censers made the very scent of the air he breathed alien to him.

And, he felt chagrined to admit, he was unused to looking up at the king rather than sitting beside him. Rank had never meant much to him before, or so he thought. But that had been in the days when he divested himself of it voluntarily, becoming just another Mirkwood soldier out on patrol, or an equal member of the Fellowship, taking no high airs as he hob-nobbed with gentlemen farmers and gardeners' sons. He now realized that his royalty had always served as armor to him, had he wished to invoke it, and he rather wished he had that protection available to him now. 

Dinner had ended and the dishes had been cleared away, but the wine still flowed. It was good wine, and Legolas had drunk quite a lot of it, yet not enough to rid himself of his nervousness. 

"Yes, Maitimo. From the days of my youth I have heard tales of the haunting beauty of the voices of the _Nimîr._ I am eager to hear for myself whether or not it was exaggeration." Khorlai's voice rang deep and confident. 

With a command from the king, the matter was settled. Knowing that entertainment would be expected of him, Legolas had brought his harp along to dinner, and it leaned against his leg beneath the table like a faithful hound. He picked it up and went out to the center of the room, where servants had brought a stool. He bowed to the king and the assembled nobles, and seated himself. 

Here came another dilemma, for although he knew many elvish songs, Legolas realized that he could not expect to win over this crowd with a rendition of _A Elbereth Gilthoniel,_ or even the Lay of Nimrodel. Most of the Mannish songs he knew had been learned in Laketown and were rather coarse. He hesitated to sing them, at least until he had gained a better grasp of the moral tenor of Khorlai's court. 

He had an idea; a song he had gifted to Aragorn back in the days his ranger friend had been courting Arwen. It had been pleasure for Legolas to write, for he too had been struck by Arwen's charm, ever since his first sight of her as an elven youth of ninety-two, and a paean to her beauty came easily to him. Aragorn had been delighted to sing it, and Arwen had been equally delighted to hear it. It had been just the thing for a smitten Dúnadan to sing to his unattainable betrothed, and it seemed just the thing now. Legolas cleared his throat and struck the first chord. 

_"Black is the color of my true love's hair.  
Her lips are something wondrous fair.   
The clearest eye and the softest hand.   
I love the ground whereon she stands.   
Black is the color . . . "_

Khorlai nodded and smiled gravely. Evidently he found the tales of elven voices to be no disappointment. To the king's left sat a lady of mature years, although as yet very lovely. Barlomi had told Legolas that Khorlai had suffered the loss of his queen early, so this could not be his wife. And indeed the two of them were so alike in looks as to be two sides of the same coin. She had his same dark hair and his regal nose, although her features had a more delicate cast. Sister then, Legolas supposed. Her dark eyes were fixed on him, the pupils expanding into black pools. 

Legolas cast this lady a smile and launched into the next verse. This one was more recent, having been written at Arwen's request upon the occasion of the fourth anniversary of her marriage to Aragorn. Legolas often wondered if the two of them sang it to each other in private before getting down to other business. If that were so, judging from recent developments, it seemed to have worked. 

_"Black is the color of my true love's hair.  
His face is something wondrous fair.   
The keenest eye and the strongest hand.   
I love the ground whereon he stands.   
Black is the color . . . "_

On the king's right sat another lady, this one no more than a girl. She had Khorlai's dark hair and eyes. Daughter? Legolas thought so. This young lady's eyes rested not upon Legolas, strangely enough. They were trained in the direction of one of the lower tables. 

_"I go to the river for to mourn and weep.  
The time is past, yet faith I keep.   
And still I hope the time will come   
When you and I may be as one.   
Black is the color . . . "_

Legolas followed the line of the princess's sight. A young man sat among the junior gentlemen of the court, returning the princess's gaze with one of carefully concealed longing. Hmm. Legolas found this very interesting. This young man quickly broke his stare at a glance from another man at the king's table. This last man was dressed in fine robes, almost as splendid as those of the king, and he wore a chain of office about his neck. What did they call them here, Legolas wondered. Vizier? Prime Minister? Whatever he was, this was a man of some power, and used to wielding it from the haughty look on his face. A large ruby set in gold hung from one ear, and it lay sparkling richly against the dark skin of the man's cheek.

_"I love my love and well he knows.  
I love the ground whereon he goes,   
And if my love no more should I see   
My life would surely fade away.   
Black is the color of my true love's hair." _

As the room burst into applause, Legolas realized too late that either because of the wine or his unfamiliarity with the language, he had forgotten himself and sung 'he' in the last verse rather than the 'she' he had intended. Which gave the song some interesting nuances that had not gone unnoticed by several in the audience. The Vizier was staring at Legolas the way a hungry warg examines a joint of venison. And to his great unease, Legolas saw Khorlai himself eyeing him with an enigmatic smile. 

Chiding himself for a great idiot, Legolas did the only thing he could do. He smiled and bowed gracefully. 

"The tale-tellers did not lie, _Nimru,_ " Khorlai said. "Come, sit beside me. I would know if that tongue of yours is as great a delight in conversation as it is at the singing of songs. Kindly make room for Master Maitimo, Zamin." 

"With pleasure, my brother," said the graceful lady to Khorlai's left. She moved slightly aside, as servants brought a chair and placed it between the two of them. She did not make very much room, and Legolas found himself pressed tightly on either side when he sat down. 

From his spot on the dais, Legolas looked down at the low table he had recently vacated. His former dinner companions, mostly young men in silks more brightly colored and more revealing than the rest, looked daggers upon him with heavily kohled eyes. He made a mental note to himself to accept no gifts of food from anyone for the next fortnight. 

Under the table, Legolas felt a leg press against his right knee. He struggled to maintain his composure as a delicate hand landed on his left thigh. _'Flirt with the sister, she is your better choice for safety,'_ Legolas told himself desperately, while continuing to answer Khorlai's polite questions.

He turned to her with his most blinding flash of charm, saying, "And what does the lady Zamin have to say?" 

Legolas Thranduilion had really put his foot in it this time.

* * * 

It was well past the midnight hour when Legolas came through the door of the quarters assigned to him earlier in the day by Khorlai's seneschal. "Wake up, Miki, and go home to your mother. I will not be needing you any more tonight," he told the young body-servant he had been given along with the rooms. 

The boy stirred, still muzzy from sleep and shook his dark curls. "Would you not have me light the lamp, Master?" 

Legolas shook his head. "No, I have no need of a light." The night sky held only a sickle moon, but the faint glow that filtered in through the grilled windows was sufficient for elven eyes. 

"Shall I help you undress, then? Put away your clothes?" 

"No, Miki, your mother must be worrying about you." 

"Mama says she worries about me less when I am serving one of the _bêthnari_ than if I would be assigned to a noble like Master Huzun. I asked her why, and she would not tell me, but Grandmama says it is because you _bêthnari_ are too tired. I still did not understand." 

Legolas made a face in the darkness. "And may you never. Go home, lad, and tell your mother that Master Maitimo promises you will be home every night." 

When the boy had left, Legolas went into the bedchamber and stripped off his shirt, which was full with the aroma of the incense and wet with his own nervous sweat. The air felt good on his bare skin, for the night was warm. 

His apartments were luxurious, consisting of a sitting room, a bedchamber, and a separate smaller room for washing and performing the toilet. Legolas doubted that all in the palace were housed so well, and he understood that Barlomi had spoken true when he reported himself to be a man of position and respect in this land. The quarters had even a small private courtyard attached, where a tiny garden flourished.

Legolas stepped outside now, taking in the rich scents of the night-blooming flowers. He sat down on the bench and looked up into the night sky. It was true; the stars were strange in this land. The constellations Legolas was used to seeing in the far south -- Menelvagor, with his faithful companion Telumendil-- were all directly overhead. Eärendil, shone brightly as ever, but much to the north. The Valacirca had disappeared entirely below the northern horizon, although Legolas could still make out Tingilinde, the star about which the heavens wheeled and could always be trusted to show the way north. There were new constellations as well. Legolas did not know what the Haradrim called the formation that looked like a great crossroads in the sky, but to him it resembled the hilt of a sword. In his own mind, he now named it Orcrist, and it reminded him of a small part of his home. 

The grandeur of the heavens moved his heart. Keeping his voice low to not awake the mortals, Legolas leaned back on his elbows and began to sing a song of self-comfort in the night. _"A Elbereth Gilthoniel, silivren penna miriel . . ."_

From off in the distance came the haunting cry of a peacock, answering the lone elven voice.

* * * * * * * 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> **Author's Notes:** Forgive me for the conceit that Legolas was the composer of the old folk song, 'Black is the Color of My True Love's Hair,' but it seemed to work well for the purposes of this story. And indeed, who is to say that our prince of Eryn Lasgalen was not that most prolific of authors, 'Anonymous?' 
> 
> **Translations from Adunaic:**   
> _Nimru:_ beautiful one; elf.   
> _Nimîr:_ Elves


	5. And I Alone Lived To Tell the Tale

_"All were slain save those who fled to die, or to drown in the red foam of the River. Few ever came eastward to Morgul or Mordor; and to the land of the Haradrim came only a tale from far off: a rumour of the wrath and terror of Gondor."_

_JRR Tolkien, The Return of the King_

 

Legolas had the morning to himself, and most strangely for a warrior and a man of action, he betook himself to Khorlai's library. Books for him were a secret pleasure. Long ago, when the sons of Elrond had put him gently aside, losing patience with the incessant questions of a curious elf-child, Legolas had sought diversion in the archives of Imladris. Prompted by Master Erestor, he had found delight in the tales of valor in the First Age: the love story of Beren and Lúthien and their quest for the silmaril; the sack of Nargothrond; Glorfindel's battle with the Balrog. It was learning of the tale of one Legolas of the House of the Tree, who had led the remnant of Turgon's folk to safety in Sirion, that had sparked Legolas's own passion to become a warrior and caused him to pester Thranduil for his first bow. Later, as a young man, he had found peace and a new pride in the hitherto unsuspected richness of his Grey-elven heritage while assigned to duty in his father's library. At the time, he had thought that Thranduil was punishing him for certain lapses in judgment, and he had taken a wicked delight by enjoying the task, thus thwarting his father's will, or so he thought. Yet now, at this late date, he understood that it had been Thranduil's way of making a subtle gift to him; the gift of knowledge, reflection, and wisdom. 

No matter where, libraries were the same -- the sense of quiet, the smell of dust and parchment. Legolas inhaled deeply in simple enjoyment and smiled. 

"May I help you?" 

Legolas turned to see a man among the shelves. His face, in profile, was handsome in the dark manner of the Haradrim. 

"Aye, Master Librarian. I am Maitimo, _bêthnaru,_ at your service. I would like a book to fill my idle hours." 

"Very well," the young man said. "Do you desire some love poetry? Or perhaps some tales of humor?" 

"I would rather read the work of Harad's most noted philosopher -- if such is available." said Legolas mildly. 

"As you wish, Master Maitimo," said the librarian, quirking up the corner of his mouth and leading him back into the stacks. He reached onto a high shelf, rather clumsily with his left hand, and took down a book. "I think this will serve." He turned and held out the book and Legolas restrained a gasp as he saw the man's full face. While the left side was perfection, a scar cleft the right brow, running from mid forehead down to the corner of the mouth. The eye was gone, the lid a withered remnant in the deep fissure. 

"I thank you, Master ah . . ." said Legolas struggling not to betray his shock. 

"Phazan," replied the librarian. 

"Forgive me," Legolas said. "I fear I failed to make your acquaintance at dinner last night. I rarely forget a name." 

"I was not at dinner last night. I would not inflict this upon the court. Or upon anyone else." The young man hurried on. "You may keep the book as long as you like. With a tome like this, I expect it to be out a month." 

"I intend to have it back in three days," said Legolas. "Until then . . . oh!" He stopped short when he saw a familiar looking game board in a corner, laid out with tiny pieces of ivory and dark wood. "You have this game here?" 

Phazan nodded in the direction of the board. "Indeed we do. Do you play?" 

Legolas nodded his head. The sight of the board almost brought tears to his eyes, reminding him of games played with his father over the course of many years. Suddenly, he felt very homesick. "Do you think we might?" 

"I would like that," said Phazan. He went to the game table and sat, gesturing with his left hand for Legolas to join him. 

"Choose colors?" Legolas asked, sitting also. 

"You do it," said Phazan tersely. Legolas noticed that he kept his right hand hidden within the folds of his robe. 

Legolas took up an ivory piece and one of ebony. Shifting them back and forth beneath the table to mix them and hiding one in each fist, he presented them to Phazan. The librarian pointed to the right hand. "You are black," Legolas said, opening his palm to reveal an ebony piece. He spun the board so that the ivory pieces were in front of him. 

"Fitting," Phazan laughed. "I have only once before seen folk as pale as you. You should play the white." 

Legolas moved out his first piece. 

"Your hands are not those of an idle man," said Phazan, looking pointedly at Legolas's right hand. "Those are the calluses of a bowman, unless I miss my guess." 

"You have hit your mark, Master Librarian," said Legolas, chiding himself for his lack of foresight in showing his hands. How to explain it? "I was not always a _bêthnaru._ But since the defeat of Sauron, soldiers are not so much in demand, and those such as myself needs must find other employment. I thought that if I could no longer be a warrior, I would become a lover to earn my bread. It is an irony, is it not?" 

"That option was not available to me," said Phazan, moving out his pawn. "Fortunately, I had a love of books to fall back on." 

"You were a soldier?" Legolas asked, moving out another pawn. 

Phazan nodded. "I was an archer like yourself. At least, until this." He took his right arm out of his robes, revealing a mangled stump where the hand had been. 

Legolas frowned in sympathy. "The same battle as . . . ?" 

"Oh, yes. I rather think either injury would be sufficient to end the career of a soldier." Phazan shrugged. "I was just very unlucky that day. As were we all. I wish I could say that my wounds came as the result of great deeds of valor, but they were not." 

"I have been in battle, my friend. War is rarely glorious. It is more a comedy of errors, although the bards will never sing it so afterwards." 

"And so it was with me," Phazan said. "I led a company of archers in that battle on the plain before the White City. Our best they were; brave men all. There came a charge of horsemen; big men with hair almost as pale as yours. They broke our cavalry line and rode us down. My bow was broken, my right hand useless, crushed under the hooves of one of the warhorses as it passed over me. I picked up a fallen sword and tried to defend myself, but I was not trained in that weapon, and it was my clumsy hand wielding it. I tried to parry a blow from another of the big horsemen. I kept my head, but I received this." He gestured upward at his ruined face. 

"There came a cry from the south. The ships of the Corsairs had arrived at Harlond. I thought we were saved. And then, with my one good eye, I saw a banner unfurl; a white tree and seven stars. I remember very little after that, half blinded as I was and weak from loss of blood. I recall wading into the river, which already ran red. After that, I knew no more until I came back to my senses in the company of some Uruk." 

"Orcs?" 

"Yes. Goblins, you would call them, and other might call them beasts, but I found them not so. They have a strange kind of honor about them, for they tended me and shared their food, when they might just as easily have made a meal of me. One even kindly had my hand off with his scimitar when it began to fester. Rough medicine to be sure, but it saved my life, such as it was. In time, I regained my strength, left them, and made my way back home, to bring my folk rumour of the wrath and terror of Gondor." 

Legolas stayed silent, remembering another long-ago battle and a wound from his own bowstring. A minor change of fate, and here he might sit lacking an eye. Had the cry been "Goblins!" instead of "Eagles!" he might not be here at all. 

"I came home," Phazan continued. "But often, I ask myself, why, out of all of them, I alone should have lived to tell the tale." 

Legolas remembered his own father, sitting alone with a glass of wine, staring into the fire; and Galion, so over fond of his drink. "Sometimes war is cruelest to those who survive. It leaves scars that do not heal." 

"I know much of scars," said Phazan. 

"I meant the ones that do not show," Legolas said softly. "There is pain in still drawing breath when so many good men have died. War is a fell thing, and I would do much to see no more of it." 

"A fell thing indeed, Maitimo." 

The chess game lay forgotten for the time being. "Ai! I have let the time slip away. Do you know what hour it is, Master Phazan? For I have an invitation from a lady, and I would fain not be tardy." 

"I believe it is just past midday," said Phazan. 

"I must leave you, then. May I return to continue our game tomorrow?" 

The librarian nodded. "That would be most pleasant." 

"And, Master Phazan, might I trouble you for directions to the apartments of the king's sister? I confess, I still do not know my way around." 

"Across the courtyard, turn left, and they are in the wing on your right. The lady Zamin, eh?" Phazan smiled. "She is most fond of her diversions. She is a good woman, though, and her life has not been easy. I pray you, Maitimo, deal kindly with her." 

Legolas inclined his head gracefully. "I am an elf, my friend. I can do no other . . ."

* * * * * * * 


	6. I'd Understand The Art Of Love

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Here comes the first serious warning for graphic sexuality, male/female, and of an unusual nature. In plain English, here follows one of the weirdest sex scenes you'll ever run across. Enjoy!

" _I'd give him liberty to toy  
And play with me, and count it joy.  
Our freedom should be full complete,  
And nothing wanting but the feat.  
Let's practice, then, and we shall prove  
These are the only sweets of love."   
John Wilmot, Earl of Rochester, from 'The Platonic Lady' _

 

"Drink, Maitimo. You look as if it would do you good."

Legolas took the glass of pale wine from the Lady Zamin's outstretched hand. It was a graceful hand, as well tended as the rest of the lady. He sniffed the bouquet appreciatively. He took a sip, rolling it over his palate and thinking how much his father would enjoy this exotic vintage. 

Barlomi had not exaggerated; the wine was delicious, sweet yet subtly spicy. He took another. 

Zamin laughed. "Do I frighten you so, Maitimo, that you must bolster yourself with wine?" 

"Oh no, my lady," Legolas hastened to say. "However, I do worry I may not live up to your expectations." 

"Have no fear on that score, Maitimo, for your presence is pleasure enough. Indeed, in this land, there are limits upon what I might require of you. So you might as well enjoy some more of that wine." 

"Yes, I must remember always that a woman's body belongs to her husband, past, present or future," said Legolas earnestly. 

"In my case, the husband is long in the past," Zamin said. "I was fifteen when I was sent by my father to be the bride of an Easterling prince to seal a treaty. He was old, alas. He managed to consummate the marriage -- barely. When there were no heirs, I was the one who was blamed." 

"It is ever thus," Legolas murmured. "In these matters, the fault is nearly always thought to be in the woman. It must have been a hard life for you." 

"The treaty was an important one, sealing a peace between our two countries. It is the duty of royalty to make personal sacrifices for home and people. Something you, Maitimo, would not understand." Zamin sipped at her own wine. 

"I daresay, my lady," Legolas said, mildly. 

"When he died, ten years later, Khorlai dealt to have me back, and my husband's people were only too eager to be rid of me. It was a decent thing of my brother, really, for I had no further political use to him, 'without flower' as I was and carrying the taint of barrenness." 

"A sad thing for you, Lady Zamin." 

She shrugged. "It could have been worse. I might have died young, in childbed, as did my brother's wife. And I have learned to make certain accommodations for my state." She licked the rim of her wine glass reflectively, with a pointed, pink tongue. 

Legolas swallowed. He set his own glass down on the table between them, before it could slip from his nervous hands. 

"And on that subject . . . " Zamin drained her wine. "Would you care to be . . . accommodating, Maitimo? 

Legolas quickly drained his own glass and smiled serenely. Smiling serenely no matter how nervous he felt was, as the son of a king, his best learned skill. "I am always happy to please a lovely lady." 

Oh, how he hoped that sounded right! Legolas realized that this was the moment of truth. If he were to be believed as a _bêthnaru_ , the performance would either fail or succeed in the next half hour. 

Zamin laughed and held out her exquisitely manicured hand. "Come then." She led him though a curtain of beads into her bedchamber. 

Legolas looked about, seeing a large bed covered with bright silks. The room was dim. Grilled doors out onto the courtyard let in light and breeze while maintaining privacy. He looked to the lady to give him a cue as to how to proceed. 

"Undress me." 

"Is this . . . allowed?" 

"It is allowed," she laughed. "The day is hot, and you are helping me take my ease. Come . . . undress me." 

He approached her slowly. Her dress fastened at the neck with a series of tiny pearl beads, and he undid them one by one, trying to control the shaking of his hands. He eased it off her shoulders and let it slide to the floor. Beneath was a thin shift, held by narrow ties. He pulled them loose and the garment puddled around her feet. 

"That is so much better," she whispered. "Thank you, M . . ." 

"No," he said, stepping in closer. Their bodies were almost touching, and he could feel her breath on his cheek as he reached behind her head to undo to clips that held her hair. He ran his fingers through the plaits and let it fall loose about her shoulders. She had dark hair, soft against his hands, with only a few strands of silver in it. "That is how I want to see you." 

She smiled and backed away from him, laying herself down on her bed and stretching out full. She cleared her throat and glanced pointedly at some silk scarves that were draped strategically over the posts of the bed. When Legolas hesitated, she said, "Tie me up, Maitimo." 

Legolas approached the bed gingerly and took her left hand. At least he knew how to tie a good knot, as every Silvan elf must. He bent to his work, securing her wrist to the bedpost. 

"That is quite an impressive knot," she said, with some amusement, as he went to secure the other side. "Perhaps not so tight with the other one?" 

He nodded. "As the lady wishes." 

That accomplished, he moved to the foot of the bed and took a slender ankle. As he worked, he could not help but peruse her naked body, the first nude woman he had ever truly seen. The hand of time had been kinder to Zamin than the vagaries of love and fate had been. Her dusky skin was still smooth, and only a slight gauntness here and a fullness there revealed where the flesh had given in to the relentless pull of the bones of Arda. 

The room was warm, and as Legolas worked, tying first one ankle and then the other, the scent of exotic woods rose from her skin in fragrant waves, assaulting his nostrils. Try as he might, he could not keep his eyes from straying to the triangle of hair at her groin. Truly, he thought, women make their own modesty, for that which lay between and below, was obscured in the dark curls. 

Legolas fought to control his breathing. His father had warned him that a kind of madness comes over males at such a time, and he found it to be true. He yearned to cover that naked body with his own, to feel the press of those breasts against his chest and to have that curly mass grinding against him. He felt a growing tightness between his legs and kept his eyes dropped as he adjusted the silk. 

"Step back, Maitimo," she said gently. "Now take off your shirt." 

He looked up at her in surprise. 

"You will be exerting yourself. Besides, I want to feast my eyes on you. Now, take it off." 

Slowly, he complied, watching the dance of her pupils as she looked him over. He balled his shirt up and tossed it aside. He felt himself beginning to perspire again. 

"Ah, you are very lovely, Maitimo, so deceptively slender, yet so strong." She stretched back, spread-eagled out on the bed. "If you were to take your will of me now, there would be little I could do to stop you." 

He could not trust his voice. "My will . . . ? Lady, I may not," he whispered. 

She sighed. "Alas, neither may I. Life can be cruel. Can you be cruel too, Maitimo?" she asked suggestively, her eyes trailing over to her side. 

To Legolas's dismay, he spied a whip on the nightstand. It was a small whip, with a thin, short lash, the sort the _Edain_ used on their horses, or to whip a dog. Legolas had never understood the need to do either. For him, horses moved willingly, and the desire to hurt such a trusting beast as a dog was entirely out of his ken. How much more so for a person? 

Thanks to the Gondorian scrolls, he knew what she wanted of him. And he could not oblige. It was not in the nature of Legolas Thranduilion to needlessly cause pain to man, woman or beast, for he had dealt enough of it in necessity. _'The mission ends now, ignominiously, in this lady's bedchamber,'_ he told himself, _'unless I can think quickly.'_

Mostly to buy himself some time, he went to the night table and picked up the whip, running the lash through his hand. She looked on him expectantly. He tapped it against his palm thrice, and then lashed his own leg. Predictably, it hurt. 

What to do, what to do? Legolas now wished that he had paid a little more attention during Thranduil's refreshingly blunt talk, rather than giving in to the understandable temptation of any child listening to a parent discuss bed matters and letting his mind drift to safer places during the most graphic portions. However, confronted with Zamin, who was currently eying him with the gloating expression of a cat about to lick out a bowl of cream, Legolas had a feeling that even _Ada_ would be out of his depth. 

_'Well, for pity's sake, Thranduilion,'_ he told himself. _'You'll just have to make it up as you go along, and make it good!'_

"Cruel?" he said, setting his features into what he hoped was an evil smile. "Oh, yes, lady, I can be very cruel." He tossed the whip aside. "For I will deny you what you most desire and take my own pleasure." 

Against the wall stood a tall vase, and in it leaned a bunch of tail feathers from the strangely colored birds that wandered the courtyards, disturbing the peace of the night with their eerie cries. Legolas pulled one out and held it in his hand. This would do. "Shut your eyes, Zamin," he said. 

"And if I will not?" she asked, teasingly.

"Then I shall use one of those scarves to blindfold you," he replied. "But I prefer your eyelids be as naked as the rest of you. Shut them."

With an amused purse of her lips, she obeyed.

He began by running the tip of the feather down her cheek, and then he brought it across her lips, barely touching the skin. He gave a stroke over each eyelid, moving on to her ears. Were the ears as sensitive in Edain as they were in his own folk, he wondered? She seemed to like it well enough, but not overwhelmingly so. Poor Aragorn, he thought. Indeed, poor Arwen not to be able to give the pleasure of this most intimate of caresses. 

He let the feather trail down her neck and then moved to the palm of one hand, teasing each finger and then trailing up the inside of her arm in long lazy strokes. A light touch to the armpit made her squirm, and she writhed even more as he stroked in towards the center, flicking one of her nipples ever so gently. He watched in fascination as the pink nub stiffened and grew under his efforts. How would that bit of flesh feel to his fingertip, he wondered? Immediately, he regretted the thought, for his breeches grew tighter. He made a mental note to himself to have the crotches of his pants let out before much more time passed. 

Legolas shifted the angle of the feather, moving it like a knife blade under one nipple, then the other, nicking, teasing. Zamin gasped and began to move from side to side. "Ah, no, you begin to like that too well. Did I not say I was cruel?" he laughed, moving the tip of the feather down the center of her belly, passing the sweet dimple of her navel and traversing the gentle swell of her lower belly. 

Softly, he ran the feather down the crease where leg meets hip, coming ever closer to the center but avoiding the spot she sought to bring into contact. She was breathing rapidly now, and she hissed in protest when he abruptly took the feather away. 

"Cruel . . . remember?" 

He brushed the sole of her foot now, watching as her face contorted in a grimace. His actions had heightened the sensitivity of her flesh everywhere, and the tickling must be a torture now. Up the ankle, up the calf, in short little strokes. And then longer ones, tracing inner thigh. A quick flick to the center near the buttock made her cry out and strain against her bonds, and then she moaned as he began on the sole of the other foot. 

He lingered at her knee, fearful to approach the moment of truth. He realized he was humming to her; a soothing, tuneless sound, almost like a purr. "Please, Maitimo . . ." 

"Cruel . . ." he said softly and ran the feather up her center. She gasped and threw her head back. 

Legolas made a silent thank-you to his father. It was here, just where Thranduil had said it would be. And it was true; women were a beautiful thing in passion. They opened to a man, just like flowers. 

With the skill of one trained to the knives, Legolas and his feather did her reverence. Silently, he kept to his task, watching as her head whipped from side to side and her breathing grew ragged. He sensed her tensing like a bowstring, her eyes rolled beneath her closed lids and she let out a shuddering cry. He shifted his stance to ease the pressure in his groin as her breathing returned to normal. 

"Maitimo, you are incredible," she said, opening her eyes. 

"My pleasure, Lady Zamin," he said, his voice as shaky as his knees. 

She looked at him and gave a little laugh. "I think not. Poor boy, what are you going to do about that?" 

Legolas sighed. There was no point in reminding her that he was hundreds of years her senior, for he did, indeed, feel like a frustrated boy just past his majority. "I will retire to my chambers and deal with it, my lady." 

"It will be a great dishonor to me if you are seen leaving my apartments in that state." 

"I see no alternative," he said, puzzled. 

She smiled slyly. "Why waste it? Let me watch." 

Legolas raised an eyebrow. _'Why ever not?'_ he thought, with a little mental shrug. Taking care of himself in front of her would be only slightly more embarrassing than walking the halls of the palace with a painful erection, and it would surely add to the verisimilitude of his _bêthnaru_ act. 

"Is this allowed? For you to look upon me naked?"

"Anything is allowed, if I wish it -- save the ultimate," she laughed. "Besides, I've a feeling I will have no desire to run to my brother with complaints." 

He inclined his head. "With your gracious leave then, my lady." Leaving the waistband of his trousers tied, for he had no wish to experience the ignominy of having his pants fall around his ankles, he undid the lacings of his codpiece and freed himself.   
.   
Her eyes grew large, and again, he could see the dark pupils bouncing. "Oh my! Tell me, Maitimo, are all the _Nimîr_ built like you?" 

Legolas felt heat flush his face. "No, my lady, only those of my . . . heritage. The _Eluwaith._ The Grey-elves. We do well among trees." 

"I daresay," she said, swallowing. "You should blush more often, Maitimo. The color suits your skin. You may proceed." 

Legolas shut his eyes and tried to concentrate on the business at hand. He had no oil to ease things, so he would have to rely on hand pressure primarily. He began to knead. Although he was no stranger to this activity, he had never before done it for an audience. Even so, from the feel of things, it was not going to take long. 

"Maitimo . . .?" 

"What?" he said, trying to hold back a groan of frustration. 

"Would you untie my right hand?" 

Her face had a wicked smile as he approached, holding his unruly self in one hand and using his other to undo the knot that held her right wrist. "Thank you." 

He bowed and retired to the foot of the bed. Again, he began to milk and massage himself. He sneaked open an eye. Oh, _Belain_! The sight of her touching herself was almost more than he could bear. His other eye came open, and he stared transfixed. 

As he watched, she sank her finger into herself up to the second knuckle. What would it be like, he wondered, to feel the tip of his own flesh going into that sweet place? The thought put him over the edge. 

Legolas was completely unprepared for the force of his climax. Even though he bent almost double and stepped back rapidly, his essence burst from him in a great arc, splashing onto the floor and the foot of the bed.

" _Ai, nin goheno_!" he said, mortified. Some of his seed had hit the lady herself, and it glistened wetly on the instep of her foot. He made a grab for the nearest object at hand, to clean her off. "Please, please, forgive me," he amended, trying not to stammer. 

"No, Maitimo -- not your shirt," she interjected. "There are cloths in my wardrobe. Use one of those." 

He went to her tall wardrobe cabinet, pulling open the doors and inhaling the unique female scent that wafted out at him. He stopped and drew in breath in sheer enjoyment. Almost, his flesh wished to rise again. He took a deep breath for self control, and paused to lace himself back up. 

He took a small towel from a pile on one of the wardrobe shelves and turned back to her, trying his best to ignore her teasing smile as he wiped the top of her foot clean. 

"They do say it is good for the complexion," she said wryly, bringing another rush of blood to his face. Legolas merely let go of her foot and stooped to clean the floor. "Just leave the cloth here, Maitimo. My maid is discreet." 

Legolas nodded and donned his shirt. 

"Thank you for everything, Maitimo. You have entertained me most cleverly. I hope we may do this again." 

"It will be my pleasure, Lady Zamin," said Legolas, turning to leave. 

The sound of her laughter followed him. "Oh, Maitimo . . .? Before leaving, will you please untie me . . .?"

* * * 

Legolas came into the sitting room of his quarters and cast himself onto his divan with a thump.

"Are you tired, Master?" 

"Very tired, Miki." Legolas cocked one eye open. The child was looking at him curiously. Spending his essence always made Legolas want to roll over and go to sleep. Usually, this was no problem, as he always took care not to pleasure himself when any great exertion would be required of him. There was no way to explain this to the boy.

"A _bêthnaru_ works hard, Master?" 

"Very hard, Miki. Perhaps if you drew me a bath, I might recover myself." A bath was a good idea in any case. Legolas was covered in sweat and other stickiness. 

"A hot bath, Master?" 

"Cold."

The boy went off, and Legolas lay back, staring idly at the pattern of light and shadow cast by the sunlight coming in the window grilles. The sensations of the afternoon had been utterly unexpected, which contributed to his lassitude as much as any exertion earlier. 

Always, Legolas had been told that the joys of the flesh were to be enjoyed with one's bonded true love. And so, he was surprised at his body's reaction this afternoon. Zamin was attractive enough, but he felt little for the lady past a fond affection. And yet, he had experienced an intensity of physical delight in her company that surpassed any solitary self-pleasuring. He had not truly believed his father at the time, but it was true; these things were much better with a partner. Even more surprising, this partner need not be one's mate for life. 

"Your bath is ready, Master." 

Legolas hoisted his body from the couch. He had been drifting and near sleep. "Thank you Miki." 

" _Bêthnari_ may work hard," the boy said impishly. "But not so hard, I think, as hauling ten buckets of water. I think I shall be a _bêthnaru_ when I grow up." 

"I think you shall not, young scamp," said Legolas, stripping off his shirt as he made his way to the washing chamber. "You do not know of what you speak."

"A soldier then," the boy said merrily.

Legolas stripped off his breeches too and tossed them to the boy. "Here, take these to be laundered." He sighed as the boy went off with the clothing in his arms, thinking of the librarian, Phazan, and his grievous wounds. But, indeed, what choices were available to Miki? What would his future be in this land? 

Legolas sank into the bath. The cold water felt good on flesh heated from more than just the warmth of the afternoon. Again his thoughts strayed back to Zamin, how her face had looked, lost in the throes of passion. He smiled, and slowly his hand slipped lower . . .

* * * * * * *

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> **Translations:**  
>  _Eluwaith:_ The people of Elu Thingol, Grey-elves, Sindar.  
>  _Belain:_ Sindarin for Valar, the gods.  
>  _nin goheno:_ Forgive me.


	7. Wild For To Hold

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> On the heels of the previous chapter, here comes the first warning for male/male activity. Legolas's evasive skills are put to the test!

_"Who list to hunt, I know where is a Hind . . .  
Fainting, I follow. I leave off therefore,   
Since in a net I seek to hold the wind."_

_Sir Thomas Wyatt_

 

"Check." 

"You work fast," laughed Phazan, moving out one of his diagonal pieces to block Legolas's own, which was threatening his king. 

"Impetuosity in battle is a family trait," Legolas responded, before realizing that this last detail was perhaps indiscreet. He hastened to save himself. "Of course, working fast is appropriate in one of my more recent calling." 

"I would not know about haste in the arts of love; romance is no longer my purview," said Phazan. "But in battle, or games of battle, haste can be dangerous. Your piece is now in danger from mine." 

This came as no surprise to Legolas. He had placed his piece in jeopardy deliberately and was willing to sacrifice it as part of his strategy. Verily, Mithrandir had placed him and his father in jeopardy often enough to further his grand schemes, so turnabout was fair play insofar as this game of chess was concerned. "In my home, these pieces are called Wizards. What is your name for them here?"

"We call them the Viziers. Like our Lord Huzun. Although our realm has but one of him, and that one is enough." 

There was a note of distaste in the librarian's tone which was not lost on Legolas. "You do not care for him?" 

Phazan shrugged. "It is not my place to criticize the decisions of my . . . king. But I think Huzun would not hold so high an office had not the deaths of so many good men in the recent war left Khorlai with no other choice. Why do you ask?" 

"I must take my leave of you soon. And it is to Lord Huzun that I am summoned. In polite terms, of course," Legolas grinned. "It is useful to me to know his proper title. And perhaps a bit about the man himself." 

"Then accept the advice of a friend, Maitimo," said Phazan, knitting his brows. "Watch yourself with him. The man is twisted. He has no lovers, and there are even some _bêthnari_ who will no longer accept his invitations." 

Legolas kept his face carefully impassive. So Huzun was the patron Barlomi had spoken of refusing! "I thank you, Master Phazan, for your concern. I am ever wary, as one in my position must needs be." 

"Wary? Indeed?" Phazan grinned. The effect on his ruined face was rather ghastly, but Legolas had grown used to the librarian's appearance and did not react. "Think again. My Vizier just took yours." 

Legolas inclined his head as Phazan reached out unsteadily with his left hand to sweep away the white Wizard with his black one. "I thank you, my friend. I will bear the lesson in mind."

* * * 

Unlike the tasteful apartments of Lady Zamin, the quarters of Lord Huzun were opulent -- even garish in their appointments. Legolas's senses were assaulted by a riot of colors and textures -- scarlet silks and gold leaf abounding.

The Vizier wore only a thin robe, loosely belted at the waist. He was visibly naked beneath. "You're late," he snapped. 

Legolas cast a quick look outside at the angle of the sun. He was not late, and he knew it. So this Vizier had a need to keep his partners off balance, did he? The prince in him wanted to bridle at this treatment, but even a prince had to control his emotions and play a part -- as must a courtesan. "Forgive me, my lord," he said evenly. 

Two glasses of wine stood on the table, already filled. "Here, drink this before we get started," Huzun said. It did not escape Legolas's attention that Huzun chose carefully which glass he offered. 

Legolas narrowed his pale blue eyes imperceptibly, taking the proffered goblet and sniffing as if savoring the bouquet. The strong odor and color of the red wine could not disguise the bitter under-scent from his heightened sense of smell. Drugged, Legolas thought, as he pretended to sip. A slight tingling in his lips confirmed it. Oh, this was not good. "Delicious, my lord," he murmured. 

So much for the polite fiction of a willing seduction! Legolas would at this point have dearly loved to switch glasses with the man, but he doubted that Huzun would be careless enough to allow this. Instead he went to the nearest window, which looked out on a garden courtyard. "What a pleasant view you have here, my lord," he said conversationally, blocking the man's view with his body and emptying a large portion of the goblet into a potted palm. He made a small mental apology to the plant. 

Outside in the courtyard, one of the large iridescent birds strolled past, dragging its magnificent plumage. As Legolas watched, it let out a piercing cry. "Those are lovely birds, my lord. What do you call them?" 

"Peafowl," said Huzun. "That one is a cock. Look at me, _bêthnaru_ , when you speak to me." 

Slowly, Legolas turned, striving to keep his true emotions off his face. _'Serene smile, serene smile,'_ he repeated to himself. Huzun had taken the opportunity to drop his robe, and he stood revealed naked in all his glory, or lack thereof. "A cock," Legolas said, slurring his words ever so slightly for effect. How, he wondered, was he going to get himself out of this?

Legolas knew himself to be out of his depth here, his brave words to Arwen on the docks at Harlond notwithstanding. She had been correct, the Lady Undomiel; without his rank to shield him, all the diplomacy and charm in the world could not help him evade the attentions of one who obviously refused to take no for an answer.

He could always call an end to the charade and walk out, he supposed, presuming Barlomi had been honest when he told Legolas he would always have a choice, albeit neither choice might be to his liking. Barlomi had not quite prepared him for this scenario. Even so, Legolas felt reluctant to abandon his mission just yet. Where charm failed, the situation might call for less savory measures.

"Come here," said Huzun. He had a predatory smile on his face as Legolas approached, swaying gently on the balls of his feet. "Now, on your knees, _bêthnaru_."

' _Arrogant son of an orc,'_ thought Legolas. Aloud, he said, "Does it please you to order me, my lord?"

Huzun nodded. 

"In that case, I will obey . . . Because it pleases me to do so." His tone and expression were outwardly mild, and only another elf would have detected the dangerous note in his voice. Huzun frowned briefly at this modest sign of defiance, but he recovered himself as Legolas drew nigh. 

First setting his goblet on the table, Legolas faced Huzun and dropped gracefully to his knees. The gesture of submission seemed to be just what the man wanted, for the object in question rose into action. Legolas looked upward with his most seductive expression and smiled. "And now, my lord?" 

"You know what to do," the Vizier said tersely. 

"Indeed," replied Legolas. He licked his lips, stalling for time. He found it difficult not to cross his eyes with an erection shoved into his face. 

"What are you waiting for?"

What was he waiting for, Legolas asked himself? Some blinding flash of inspiration, perhaps? What had he expected, coming here, to this land, in the guise of a pleasure-giver, if not to give at least a little pleasure? Legolas felt at a loss to explain why he found the prospect so distasteful. It was mere flesh he saw before him, no different from that of the Lady Zamin, and he would have kissed her lips had he been called upon to do so, with no hesitation or second thoughts.

And yet, as he flicked his gaze upward, he caught a cold gleam in Huzun's eye. The Vizier desired pleasure of him, but not that of mere bodily sensation. His joy would come from the abasement and degradation of another. Legolas had up to this point believed himself to be meek, but this, he would not do.

"Well?" said the Vizier, his tone growing impatient.

"As you wish," my lord," said Legolas, taking a deep breath and parting his lips. _'Remember, Adan, you asked for this,_ ' he continued silently. _'You deserve neither my kindness nor my respect.'_

"Aaaa-chooo!" He sneezed wetly onto the man's turgid member, clearing out his sinuses and managing to spray him with saliva as well. 

Huzun jumped back with a cry of disgust, his erection wilting. 

"Oh, forgive me, my lord!" Legolas said, dripping false concern "It must be the flowers blooming in the garden. I have been affected thus all day." He leaped to his feet and ran into the bedroom, retrieving a towel from a pile he found conveniently stacked beside the bed. "Please allow me to set you to rights!" 

Huzun glared as Legolas wiped off his flaccid organ. "You do not acquit yourself well, _bêthnaru_. I expect you to make me amends." The Vizier advanced, his expression cold.

Tossing the towel aside, Legolas retreated. "My lord, where is the sport in this?" he said with a smile that belied his inner turmoil. "Surely it is far more pleasant when your lover is willing."

"No. It is of little import to me whether you are willing or not. You are here for my pleasure and nothing else. Now stand still, courtesan."

Legolas, who had fetched up against the jamb of the doorway to the bedchamber, had little choice. Inside, he could see an entire wall of strange toys hung at the ready. Legolas shuddered, for he could only guess at the uses of some of them, while for others, it was all too obvious. 

Legolas fought his rising dismay as Huzun came close and pinned him to the wall. His clever tongue would not aid him now, and he realized that his reluctance merely spurred the Vizier on. The man's erection had returned, and Legolas could feel it pressing into his thigh. Only one way out remained for him. He caught Huzun's gaze, shivering as he did so, for looking into those eyes was as disconcerting as staring into the depths of a dark well. 

Quickly, Legolas sent his will into the mind of the Vizier and whispered the words of the spell of sleep that the Wood-elves at home used to protect their feasting circles. Huzun's eyes lost focus and he went down like a sack of grain. 

Legolas caught the collapsing man neatly and carried him into the bedchamber, laying the unconscious Vizier on the bed. He sat gingerly down next to him, putting his head into his hands while his racing pulse returned to normal.

That had been too close. _'You have bitten off more than you can chew, Legolas Thranduilion,'_ he told himself ruefully. _'Not for the first time, but definitely the worst!'_

Genius indeed! His usual strategy of shy aloofness -- fending off the silly love-struck maidens and the besotted lords with a regretful sigh and a fleeting hint that their affection might be returned save for some mysterious elven 'if only,' and for the more importunate, a posture of serene obliviousness to their attentions -- depended for success on a modicum of courtesy and respect, if not for his position, at least for another sentient being. Useless, obviously, with the likes of Huzun.

Even as he spoke bravely to Aragorn of being able to take care of himself, Legolas had known his usual tactics would not be enough. Base as the use of magic to control mortals was, he would not have come to Harad without this necessary escape mechanism in his quiver of tricks. He had not, however, expected to have to use it quite so soon.

 _'And now what_?" he asked himself, faced with the unconscious man on the bed. He recalled one of his father's favorite sayings: When life gives you sour cherries, don't weep --- make wine. _'Very well,'_ he thought. _'Give the Adan what he wants, and make it good.'_

Legolas found it convenient that Huzun was naked already, for it certainly saved him the time and effort of undressing him. He tugged at the sheets and bent to muss them for effect. In so doing, his eyes fell again upon the man's member. 

" _Ai nuath_!" Legolas whispered. Now that he was no longer looking into the eye of the mighty trouser serpent, so to speak, and was not distracted by its threatening proximity, he noticed a significant difference from Men of the north. What would possess a man to cut himself thus? Legolas supposed it made a kind of sense in a climate like this one, for even as a naturally tidy elf, Legolas had found the need to take extra pains to remain clean in the heat. But just the same! "No wonder Lord Huzun likes pain," Legolas told himself. "It must be his first real memory in life!" 

Mortals under the influence of a sleep spell were extraordinarily easy to influence. Legolas bent again and spoke into Huzun's ear, using all the inventiveness his knowledge of the Gondorian scrolls could supply. He watched in horror and dismay as Lord Huzun grimaced with pleasure and began to writhe, acting out the whispered fantasy. He would have enjoyed doing such things to a drugged and helpless _bêthnaru_ , would he? 

_'What a man!'_ Legolas thought disgustedly, as the Vizier climaxed all over his sheets. _'He would have done that to me. He has, almost certainly, done that to others. This Adan needs a dose of his own medicine.'_

A wicked smile came over Legolas's face. He bent again to whisper on Huzun's ear. "Whereupon I awakened and proceeded to . . . and you liked it . . ."

* * * 

"Good morning, Master!" 

Legolas groaned and buried his face in his pillow as Miki's cheerful tones called him to consciousness. He had been up late the night before, again seated between Khorlai and Zamin. It had taken all his self control not to react when the lady had slipped an emerald ring down the front of his trousers while he was in conversation with her brother. It was, he had to admit, a very nice ring, but he would sooner have had it placed in his hand. Or else received her gratitude privately. 

The other _bêthnari_ had glared their usual daggers, and Huzun's expression had been inscrutable as he watched him hungrily from his side of the table. 

Legolas pulled on a robe and picked up his morning tea. As he sipped it, he went out into his sitting room and stopped still. " _Rodyn_! It looks like a flower shop in here!" 

"A footman brought those this morning, with Lord Huzun's compliments, Master," Miki said brightly. "And this bottle of wine, and this . . ." He indicated a velvet sack on a side table. 

Legolas opened the sack and whistled in appreciation. The diamond necklace inside was splendid, but far too ostentatious even for Thranduil's tastes. He broke the seal on the accompanying note and blushed slightly as he read. 

"And this, Miki?" Legolas asked, picking up a basket of sweetmeats. "Are these from Lord Huzun?" 

"No, Master. Those are from Yanâkhim the _bêthnaru_ , he who was Lord Huzun's favorite before you came." 

Legolas sniffed the candied fruits carefully. Again, he sensed an alien scent, different from the odor of Huzun's wine but equally bitter. "Take these and put them down the privy, Miki. They are not to my taste." 

The boy eyed the candy regretfully but obeyed. Legolas sighed as he watched him leave the room. "I've made my first enemy here," he thought. His eyes fell again on Huzun's note. "And I think someone else is in love with me . . ."

* * * * * * * 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> **Translations:**  
>  _Ai nuath!:_ Oh shadows!  
>  _Rodyn:_ Sindarin for Valar, gods.
> 
>  **Author's Note:** The chapter title comes from the poetry of Thomas Wyatt in honor of his doomed cousin, Anne Boleyn The final stanza runs thus: 
> 
> _Who list her hunt, I put him out of doubt,  
>  As well as I may spend his time in vain;   
> And, graven with Diamonds, in letters plain   
> There is written her fair neck round about:   
> Noli me tangere, for Caesar's I am;   
> And wild for to hold, though I seem tame._


	8. The Ceremony of Innocence

_" A dark child and a fair . . .  
Debated ancient childish things --  
And we were one of these." _

_JRR Tolkien, 'Mar Vanwa Tyaliéva'_

 

Two squares up, one over. These mounted horseback pieces were useful, for they could leap obstacles. "Guard your queen." 

"Guard your own," Phazan responded. "You just opened the way for my black Vizier." 

Legolas smirked. He had a strategy for dealing with the Vizier. "If you do that, you will be in check," he said, indicating his other mounted piece. "Useful fellows, are they not? If you harm my queen, you will be dealt a painful blow." 

"Indeed," laughed Phazan. "Useful, but ultimately expendable. Here, we call these pieces knights." 

Legolas raised an eyebrow. "That is what the Men of Gondor and Dol Amroth call them as well. In my home, we called them, simply, the _'rohir'_ for every one of our warriors is considered to be a knight." 

"Are you not from Gondor, then?" 

Legolas looked up from the game board to find the librarian examining him keenly. "No, Phazan. It is a long story. I am sure you would not be interested," he said with an evasive laugh. "Ah, look -- the hour grows late, and I have a new host today. I must confess, my friend, I am not sure what she will require of me." 

"She?" 

"Ah, yes," Legolas replied. When Phazan raised an eyebrow, it could be unnerving. "This afternoon, I attend the king's daughter." 

"Nimitha?" said Phazan, in a tone that Legolas found unusually sharp. What kind of nerve had he struck here? 

"I am sure you know the punishment for a _bêthnaru_ who transgresses the honor of a lady, especially one so young and so royal, Maitimo." 

Legolas nodded. Barlomi had been disturbingly graphic. "I am an elf, Master Librarian. Even without such dire consequences, the princess will be as safe with me as she would be in the company of a loving kinsman."

* * * 

Legolas had grown used to the sumptuous apartments of the Haradran nobility, and he found the princess's rooms to be little different save for the presence of a scowling older woman who stood behind Nimitha's divan as the princess offered Legolas a glass of wine. 

"You are old enough to drink?" he blurted, before realizing this spoiled his air of sophistication as well as hers. 

Fortunately, she giggled rather than taking offense. "Sixteen years old as of my last birthday," she said. "When I turned fifteen Father began to speak of finding a prince for me to wed. If I am considered old enough to marry, I may surely have a glass of wine." 

_Rodyn,_ Legolas thought, she was no more than a child! Whatever could she want of him? 

"Yes, Princess, but only one glass. I'll not have you spoiling your complexion with a red nose before you turn twenty," said the older woman. 

"Yes, Zori," Nimitha said, barely containing a sigh. "When I am twenty I will no longer need my old nurse to tell me what to do." 

"I am not your nurse; I am your chaperone," said Zori with an especially pointed look at Legolas. "When you are twenty you will have a husband to guide you and you will need no chaperone. I hope." 

Legolas merely sipped his wine -- white this time -- and waited patiently. 

"Perhaps some fresh air would do you good," Nimitha said lightly, but Legolas recognized the tone of royal command, having used it often enough himself. 

The nurse nodded. "I will be in the garden. Within earshot." She favored Legolas with another stern look, and as if to emphasize, held up her hand behind Nimitha's head and made a snip-snipping gesture that was impossible to misunderstand. She then turned and left. 

Legolas cleared his throat and smiled pleasantly. Nimitha smiled back. 

"You have pretty hair, Maitimo," she said. "All the court is aflutter about how handsome you look with it flowing freely like that, save for the two braids. I wonder . . . could you braid mine that way?" 

"You want me to do your hair?" he said, barely keeping the surprise out of his voice. 

She nodded. 

He smiled back and shrugged. Why ever not? He doubted the little princess would be taking up archery, but if that's all it took to keep her happy, he was getting off lightly. "Have you some combs and some ribbons for tying?" 

"Yes, in the bedroom." 

' _Oh dear,'_ thought Legolas. 

"Come with me, there's a mirror in there as well." Nimitha jumped up and motioned Legolas to follow her. She still had the slightly coltish walk of a youngster, he noted with a smile. 

"I will still be within earshot," came Zori's voice from out in the courtyard. Her hand shot up above the level of the windowsill, and again she made the snip-snip gesture. 

Legolas pursed his lips and followed the princess into the bedchamber. 

"She won't be able to hear," giggled Nimitha. "She's old. Why, she must be at least . . . forty." 

Long years of royal discipline helped Legolas keep a straight face as Nimitha seated herself at a dressing table with a looking glass. "Forty? Indeed," he replied mildly. "I doubt her hearing is severely affected as yet." 

"It seems ancient to me," Nimitha said. "How old are you, Maitimo?" 

Legolas almost came back with his stock rejoinder about the rudeness of asking an elf his age before rremembering that the tables had turned and he was now the underling who must keep a civil tongue. "I am . . . over forty," he replied. 

"You can't be!" When he smiled and nodded, she continued. "Fifty?" 

Legolas looked at his own ageless face reflected in the glass, above the tender visage of this girl-child. He smiled, realizing this was his one Belair-bestowed chance to impress someone with his age at last. He bent and whispered in her ear, watching her dark brown eyes go wide. He laughed merrily. "You must never say a word to anyone. But I will tell you another secret -- among my kind, I am still considered very young." 

Indeed, being in her presence made him feel young again, and carefree. He picked up a comb from her dressing table and began to undo the plaits of her hair, until it stood free about her head in a dark cloud. He found he quite enjoyed the feel of it in his fingers as he combed through it, smoothing out the waves. It had a texture like satin, thicker and more springy than his own. 

"How did you learn to do that?" she asked as he sectioned off and began one of the side-plaits. 

"When I was young, my nursemaid did it for me. And then, when I grew older, I practiced on my horse's tail until my fingers had learned to do the pattern without looking. If you try to watch in the mirror you will only confuse yourself." Legolas sighed. How many times had he done this over the years -- three strands, left over middle, pick up a new strand with a thumb, right over middle -- until he could perform it blindfold or even without conscious thought? 

"Your horse?" she laughed. 

"Yes, and he was not appreciative of the honor. He always tried to step on my foot to make me leave him alone." Sulrion, the first of many grey geldings, had also broken wind frequently to drive him off, but Legolas discreetly withheld that detail from the princess. 

"I will try to behave and stay off your feet," Nimitha said. 

The right braid complete, Legolas tied it off and began the next. 

"Maitimo, do you have a sweetheart?" Nimitha asked, as Legolas sectioned off the hair above her left ear. 

Legolas quirked the corner of his mouth. "A sweetheart is rather out of the question in my line of work, my lady." 

"I suppose so," she said. "Did you ever have a sweetheart?" 

"No . . . well, not really," he said. "When I was younger, I was all the time mooning after this lass or that, and there was one . . . but that was long in the past." He remembered the voice of Elladan, on an afternoon in Imladris so long ago, _'It will pass . . . in a few thousand years.'_

"Never? That is sad. Have you ever kissed a girl, then?" 

"A few," he said, with a smile. 

"I have never been kissed," she said with a dramatic sigh.

"I daresay you have not," he replied blandly. 

"I fear that I will not be very good at kissing. And I would hate to disappoint . . . whoever." 

Legolas looked up from the plaiting of the long braid and saw her face in the glass, hopeful, and he could swear just a bit sly. She was a pretty little thing for a mortal. "I cannot think that any man would be disappointed to have you for a bride." Knowing how matters stood with mortal royalty and their arranged marriages, Legolas rather thought that any foreign prince would be vastly relieved to find that his intended had both eyes pointing in the same direction and teeth that did not stick out. 

"Maitimo, have you ever met Lord Azrulbar? He is a lieutenant in my father's army." 

"I have seen him about the court. He has not called on me to attend him, so I cannot say that I have made his acquaintance," Legolas answered. 

"Do you think he is handsome?" She smiled into her mirror. "I think he is handsome." 

Legolas smiled too. Strangely enough, this was the young man who had been staring at Nimitha at dinner the first night. "Yes, Princess, Lord Azrulbar is very pleasant to look upon." Which he was, for a mortal. 

"Now, supposing a handsome man like Azrulbar were to want to kiss me, I would hate to be a disappointment to one such as he." 

"That would be a shame,' Legolas agreed. "Highly unlikely, but it would be a shame." 

Her eyes went wide. "Unlikely that he would want to kiss me?" 

"Of course not. Highly unlikely that he would be disappointed." Legolas looked longingly at the decanter of chilled wine, visible through the doorway. He had finished the left side plait, and he pulled her remaining crown hair back and tied it. "There, very pretty. You make quite the perfect warrior, my lady Nimitha." 

"My brother was a warrior, but that was before our army went away to fight the evil men of the North." Before Legolas had a chance to wonder about this, she continued, "Oh, I am sorry, Maitimo. You are so sweet that I sometimes forget you are from the north yourself. In fact, you are so kind that I would like to ask a very great favor of you." 

' _Oh, Rodyn, here it comes,'_ Legolas thought. "What may I do to please you, Princess Nimitha?" 

She turned from her mirror to look up at him shyly. "Maitimo, would you teach me how to kiss?" When he took a moment before answering, she hurried on, "I have practiced on my pillow, but it simply is not the same. I think I can trust you to do this, because it is your profession and you are safe. Kissing you would be like kissing my . . . brother." 

"I daresay," he answered, trying not to show his amusement. "It would be my honor, Princess. I think we will need to sit someplace where we can be closer, though." 

"On the bed, then," she said. 

Legolas followed her and sat down gingerly beside her on her white muslin coverlet. He was not overly enthusiastic about sitting on the bed, but he much preferred it to the divan in the parlour, with the nurse, Zori, peering suspiciously in through the grille. 

"Comfortable?" she asked brightly. 

"Yes," he lied. 

"Good. How do we start?" 

Oh, yes, how to start? At home the kisses simply happened, without much thought, after enough wine, revelry, and a walk in the dark. "Turn your head to face me and tilt your chin up. Yes, that's good. We will begin with something simple." Strangely, he did not feel as if it would be simple at all. "Now, purse your lips, just as if you were saying, _'Mumak,'_ and shut your eyes." 

"Why shut my eyes?" 

"You may leave them open if you wish, but you may tend to go cross-eyed if you do. I will begin by touching my lips to yours." 

" _Mumak_ ," she said, and raised her face to him trustingly. 

Legolas bent his head and kissed her gently. The feel of her soft flesh against his lips was like touching rose petals, or the fur on the top of a kitten's head. Something about the innocence of her reached out to his _faer,_ and his heart gave a little leap. He pulled back slowly. 

"Very good," he said. "Now, this time, part your lips just a little and relax your mouth. Do not be surprised when you feel my tongue." 

"Your tongue?" she said, dubiously, "And that is supposed to be pleasant?" 

"Yes, it is pleasant . . . if you are not kissing someone who is like unto a brother. Have no fear. I am very clean." 

She closed her eyes again, and once he touched his lips to hers, feeling the softening of her mouth against his. Cautiously, he flicked his tongue across her lips and teeth, tasting the sweetness of the wine and the girl herself. He broke the kiss and pulled back. "There, that was not so bad, was it?" he said with a bright, brotherly smile. 

She grinned back at him. "Not at all. You taste very nice, Maitimo. Now what?" 

"Now, you do the same to me." 

She licked her lips solemnly and he bent to her again. _'Like a brother, like a brother,_ ' he chanted to himself as her pointed tongue passed over his lips and brushed his own tongue in passing. 

"Did I do it well?" she asked gaily. 

Legolas favored her with his serene princely expression. "Very well indeed. I do believe there is nothing more I can --" 

"I think I need one more chance to practice," she said quickly, reaching up to bring his head down to her again. "Just so I get it right." 

This time, Legolas felt her tongue force its way between his lips, wrapping around his own, which, quite defiant of his conscious will, caressed back. Her other arm came around his shoulders, holding him fast even if he had been of a mind to pull away. Her hand stroked the back of his head. _'Oh, Elbereth -- not the ears!'_ he thought desperately. These Southron women matured young, and their blood seemed as hot as the climate that fostered them. 

"Ah-hem!" 

Nimitha released him and Legolas pulled back with a little grunt. "Oh, hello, Zori," she said, turning to face her glowering nurse. "Maitimo was just giving me some lessons." 

"He should give you lessons in hospitality rather than . . . other things. Perhaps Master Maitimo would care for another glass of wine." 

"Master Maitimo would very much like another glass of wine," said Legolas, flashing Zori a look of gratitude. Her arrival had been as welcome as that of the Eagles at the Battle of Erebor. "But first, may I use your washing chamber to freshen myself a bit?" 

"Of course," Nimitha said, and Zori nodded with what Legolas could have sworn was a wink. 

Once in the washing room, Legolas stood for a moment, breathing deeply before pouring water from the ewer. It felt tepid, as did all water in this land. How he longed for the cool water of a running forest stream! But he splashed it over his face and neck just the same. Nimitha had a looking glass above her wash stand as well, and he stood for a while, gazing at his own pale reflection before carefully composing his face and returning to the parlor. 

"Better?" asked Nimitha, as Zori held out a full glass of wine. 

"Indeed, my lady," Legolas answered. 

"I am glad to hear that. Maitimo, tell me truthfully, was I any good at kissing?" 

He looked at her hopeful face. Behind her, Zori had a most inscrutable look about her. Legolas could swear she was trying not to laugh. Choosing his words very carefully, he said, "Nimitha, no man who receives your kisses will ever be disappointed." 

"Good," she beamed. "Maitimo, may I call upon you in your quarters tomorrow, for this has been a most diverting afternoon." 

"Why . . . of course. It would be my pleasure, Princess," he replied guardedly. He looked into the nurse's face for a hint of what this was about, but he found no answers there.

* * * 

"Miki, see that the floor is swept, and when you have done that, remove the vase of yesterday's flowers. They are wilting." Legolas fussed about the room, fluffing pillows and making sure any embarrassing notes from Lord Huzun were safely tucked out of sight. "I am expecting guests, and I do not wish them to find disorder." 

"Yes, Master," the boy sighed wearily, managing to sound like a much younger version of Galion. "I am tired of throwing out flowers. I wish Yanâkhim would send more of that candy." 

Legolas stopped his puttering and turned his head sharply. "What do you mean? I told you to put that down the privy." He went to the boy and took him by the shoulders, staring deeply into his eyes. "You didn't eat any of it, did you?" 

"No, Master. But I did take some home to Grandmama." 

"You gave those sweetmeats to your grandmother? _Nuath!_ Is she all right?" 

"Yes, Master, and she sends you her thanks. She says she hasn't moved her bowels so well in twenty years." 

Legolas shook his head, resolving never to place temptation in the way of his young servant again. It was a dangerous line he walked here. 

"Did I do wrong, Master?" The boy looked and sounded chastened. 

Legolas took Miki's face between his palms. "No, lad, but the next time I tell you to do something, do it . . . please?" 

Miki nodded, and before Legolas could say anything further, there came a knock at the door. 

"Go -- answer it. And then make yourself scarce. This afternoon is for those who are grown." Legolas actually doubted that, but he could only hope.

In came Nimitha, followed by Zori, who looked only marginally happier than she had yesterday. 

"Welcome, welcome," Legolas said. "Please be seated. Would you ladies care for some sweet oranges? Or perhaps some wine?" 

"Wine would be nice," Nimitha replied quickly. 

Legolas had procured some light watered white especially for this occasion, given Nimitha's youth, and he noticed with amusement that her hair was still plaited into warrior braids. He was beginning to like this girl, although he had no idea why she was in his parlour. "How about you, Mistress Zori?" he asked gaily. 

Zori nodded, thawing ever so slightly at the prospect of a drink. Just as Legolas had finished filling the two women's glasses, there came another knock at the door. 

"Whoever could that be?" Nimitha asked innocently. 

Legolas shrugged. He was cursed if he knew who might be calling on him without warning. Miki having been dismissed, Legolas answered it himself. He opened his door to a nervous looking young man holding a bunch of flowers. "Lord Azrulbar," Legolas said, taking the flowers. "For me? How lovely! You really shouldn't have." 

Azrulbar began to stammer out something about Master Maitimo's charms and might he pay a call, but Legolas held up a hand. "Save it. Come on in. And I think the lady Nimitha would like these flowers more than I." 

"My, what a coincidence," Zori exclaimed, as Legolas led Azrulbar into the parlour. Legolas shot her a look. 

Nimitha fluttered her lashes when Legolas handed her the flowers, but her eyes were only for the young lord. "Perhaps, Maitimo, you could show Zori your garden and sing her a song?" 

"It would be my pleasure, Princess," Legolas replied. "But first, might I have a word with Lord Azrulbar in private?" 

The young man nodded and followed Legolas into his bedchamber. One inside, he looked around nervously, as if he feared to be suddenly seized and ravished by the evil courtesan. Legolas almost laughed but managed to keep his face stern. 

"Lord Azrulbar," he said, "the princess is young and she is innocent. While in my apartments, she is under my protection. I will say this only once -- should things go amiss with her, I will not be inclined to keep secrets for the likes of you. On that occasion I will not be the only one submitting to the sweet ministrations of King Khorlai's surgeon. Do we understand each other?" 

The young man nodded solemnly. "Master Maitimo, I love Nimitha more than life itself. I would die rather than to harm one hair of her head." 

Legolas shrugged. It was not the girl's head he worried about. "I'll keep the nurse occupied. But we will be within earshot. And I can assure you that, as good as Mistress Zori's hearing is, mine is ten times keener." He took up his harp and the two of them rejoined the women. 

Legolas offered his arm to the nurse. "Will you take the air with me, Mistress Zori? My garden is very lovely this time of day." Zori looked out into the courtyard, where the afternoon sun beat down fiercely and snorted. As they went outside, Legolas turned and raised his hand behind Nimitha's head in an unmistakable snip-snip gesture. Azrulbar blinked, and beside Legolas, Zori laughed softly. 

They sat on the stone bench in the far corner of the garden, under the shade of a vine covered arbor. Legolas quirked his mouth at Zori and she raised an eyebrow back. "You think me an old fool, do you not?" she said. 

Legolas shrugged. "Hardly. But you knew?" Legolas had never been used as a blind before, but he found himself more amused than insulted. 

She nodded. "Against my better judgment. But I would do most anything for Nimitha. I have loved that child from the moment I first laid eyes on her. She was less than a day old, but already so beautiful. My own baby daughter died on the same day as King Khorlai's wife. He came to me in grief himself to beg me the boon of nursing his motherless babe. He did not know what a gift he gave me." Zori sighed. "She filled the emptiness in my arms, eased the ache in my breasts, and in time, she filled the void in my heart. She is all I have left now, since my husband went away to the war in the north and did not return." 

Legolas knit his brows. How many times would he have to see the wrack of that war? For all he knew, one of his own arrows had made this woman a widow. He had fought many a battle in defense of home and folk, and he had thought himself inured to its costs, yet rarely before had he been forced to see the human price of his own handiwork.  

"She has pined in secret for young Azrulbar for several years now," Zori continued. "I could not deny her the chance to meet with him alone. Your coming was a stroke of luck, for I doubt any of the other _bêthnari_ could be trusted with such a scheme." 

"He feels the same way about her, it is obvious," Legolas said. "But do you not think you play a dangerous game here?" Legolas kept his ears open for the cessation of conversation from inside, and at the first creak of the bedstead he would be in there like a shot. Azrulbar seemed a nice enough young man, but mortals were mortals and flesh was flesh. "Nimitha speaks of being given in marriage to some foreign prince. Will not this make the parting harder still?" 

Zori shrugged. "It was a great disappointment to Lord Azrulbar that he was too young to go north to the last war, but I thank The One everyday that we still have him with us. Perhaps Khorlai can be persuaded to keep his daughter here too, especially now that his son is unlikely to marry. Our king will need an heir, and a fine man like Azrulbar would be a good match for Nimitha." 

Legolas kept his tone carefully neutral, for this was something Barlomi had not told him. In fact, Barlomi had told him very little, he began to realize. "King Khorlai has a living son?" 

"He has a son," Zori said sadly, "although that son might as well be dead for all the use he is. Prince Phazan returned from the war so grievously injured that he will not show his face. Our king is saddened by this, I know, but he lets him hide himself away and spend his days as he will. At least Khorlai still has a son to grieve him; many of our folk do not." Legolas could not help but hear the faint bitterness in her voice. 

"And even if Nimitha is sent from here," Zori went on, "at least she will have a time of happiness to look back on, however short." 

Legolas felt a pang for the young lovers inside. Changing the subject, he said, "Shall I sing a song, then, to help pass the time?" Inside, the sounds of conversation had ceased, but the mortal breathing had not grown too heavy as yet. Legolas knew he would still be able to hear them over the sounds of his own voice. 

Zori nodded. "That would be pleasant." 

Legolas took up his harp. What to sing, then? A love song; something sweet but not too stirring to the blood. He recalled one day long ago, coming upon Thranduil alone and hearing his father singing to himself in secret. He did not know the name of the tune, but he had never forgotten it, nor the look on his father's face as he sang. He cleared his throat, struck harp and began. 

_"Oh the summertime is ending, and the leaves are sweetly turning; and the wild mountain thyme blooms among the purple heather . . ."_

Zori smiled, and in that smile Legolas could see the ghost of the girl she had been peeking through. 

_"I will build my love a bower, by yon freely flowing fountain; and inside it I shall pile all the flowers from the mountain . . ."_

He broke off as tears began to run down Zori's cheeks. "Mistress Zori," he said, putting his harp swiftly aside and laying one hand upon her shoulder, "what is amiss with you? Have I done something to make you sad?" 

She shook her head helplessly. "It was the song. Something in the words and the melody took me back to the days when my husband courted me, reminding me how it felt to be young and in love." She paused and her breath came out in a shaky sigh. "It has been six years, and still I miss him so very much. Forgive me, Maitimo, I am a foolish old woman." 

Legolas knew then what he must do, and he took Zori into his arms, drawing her in close. "Hush," he said. "You are neither old nor foolish. I am the fool for making you cry." And he was a fool for not realizing the song's power. Looking back on it, there had been a great sadness in Thranduil's eyes as he sang, and Legolas supposed he had stumbled onto an old mystery. 

She nestled into his chest. "Oh, Maitimo, you have no idea how good it is to feel a man's heartbeat again." 

Legolas bent his head and tilted up Zori's chin, and without further thought he kissed her, full on the mouth. She was not young and tender, like Nimitha, nor so well tended as Zamin. The lips beneath his own were thin and a little dry. Most likely, Zori had not been beautiful, even in her youth, but there was something about the honesty of her kiss that moved Legolas to an unexpected passion. Rather than pulling away, he deepened the kiss. Zori's arms came up around his shoulders, one hand stroking his hair. 

"Oh, yes," he whispered, "touch my ear like that . . ." 

"Ah-hem!" 

Legolas let go of Zori and jumped back guiltily. He looked up to see Nimitha, cheeks flushed rosy, staring at them with her hands on her hips. Azrulbar trailed a few paces behind her, looking utterly besotted. 

"I am here to collect my chaperone," she said, her dark eyes sparkling. "We must be gone." 

"I am sad to see you leave," said Legolas, quickly recovering his composure. "Please feel free to call on me anytime, and you too, Lord Azrulbar." He had a feeling that the two visits would coincide often in the days to come. 

The two ladies left, but Azrulbar stayed behind. "I must not be seen to leave at the same time as the princess," he said sheepishly. "It would look amiss. I shall tarry a while if I may." 

Legolas reclined on his divan and put one foot up. "So, I take it that the two of us are having a flaming affair?" 

The young man nodded, coloring. "That is to be the story." 

Legolas shrugged. "Suits me. I am sure we are having a wonderful time." When Azrulbar shifted uncomfortably, Legolas laughed again. "Cheer up, my lord, it will do wonders for your reputation. Pour yourself a glass of wine and have a seat. And then tell me, have you read any good books lately . . . ?"

* * * * * * * 

  

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thranduil's secret song is the Scottish folk tune 'Wild Mountain Thyme.'   See my previous stories, When Trees Are Bare, All That Is Gold, and Cophetua for enlightenment on the 'old mystery.'  If Legolas can be that most prolific of composers, _Anonymous,_ his father can be the second most popular, _Traditional._
> 
>  **Translation from Sindarin:**   
> _Nuath!:_ Shadows!   
> _Rodyn:_ Valar


	9. Strange Woods

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> More Court intrigue, new revelations . . .

_"There, by a most incestuous birth,  
Strange woods spring from the teeming earth;"_

_John Wilmot, Earl of Rochester_

 

Legolas lay stretched out alongside Zamin, naked by the lady's request, for lately it had become her pleasure to both see and feel his body. By a miracle, he was not yet hard, but he knew that would soon change. These sessions were becoming so frustrating as to be painful for him.

Idly, he traced with his forefinger the rippling shadows cast on her nude form by the afternoon sunlight coming in through the door grille. They had progressed to touching; the dog whip had long since disappeared from her nightstand, unused and unneeded, the peacock feather returned to its vase. Her arms and legs remained free as well, that she might toy with him as had become her wont.

"That tickles, Maitimo," she laughed, as he ran his finger down a long shadow on her flank.

"I will do more than tickle by the time I am through," he replied.

"Tell me, Maitimo," she said throatily, "what will you do? What would you do to me if you could?"

"If I could?" said Legolas, giving the remark all the portent it deserved.

She nodded and smiled, running her hand through his hair. "Pleasure me with that clever tongue of yours, Word-man."

He grinned back at her with a practiced lasciviousness that was not entirely false, and bent to lick the outer ridge of her ear. "If I could have my will of you, Zamin," he whispered, "I would start by telling you how very beautiful you are to me. And then I would kiss you, thus."

Her lips parted for him, and he felt the familiar madness of being with a woman begin to build. Just as he let the battle fever carry him through combat, he gave in to the carnal instinct and let it sweep him along now. He left her lips and trailed his kisses down her neck and breast. He found a nipple and rolled the nub of flesh between his lips, circling with his tongue. She gasped as he drew away and whispered into her ear again.

"And when I had you writhing, I would throw myself upon you and take you, harder and deeper than any man has taken you before, or ever will again. I would make you scream my name, Zamin. I would make you mine."

"Please, Maitimo . . . please," she whispered.

"Are you sure?" He had grown hard, swelling against her bare thigh.

"Yes, please . . ." 

It took every ounce of Legolas's control not to allow his overwrought body to follow his words down to disaster. He longed to cover her, to thrust himself into her and not stop. Instead, he made a phallus of his hand, feeling his middle and forefingers slide into heat, while his thumb stroked elsewhere.

He recalled his father's voice so many years ago. "It's like a nest, son; and when you find the little bird, she will sing for you." Zamin sang for him now, giving voice to the breathy cries he had come to recognise as her pleasure-noises.

His own body ached, with a frustration that brought tears into his eyes. He knew now why he had always been reluctant to engage in the furtive, experimental gropings that so many of the other young elves favored. His nature was such that it was too painful to start what could not be finished. 

Giving vent to his desire in words, he said, "Oh, yes, Zamin, I would take you hard and deep, again and again until --ahhh!" He hitched in his breath as her hand worked its way down between their bodies to grasp him. She had never done this before. He had never been touched this way by anyone other than himself, and the sudden sensation took his wits away entirely. He lost control of his tongue, burying his face in her hair while he moaned elvish words of passionate obscenity into her ear, his body grinding helplessly against her thigh and her encircling hand.

She may have cried out his name; he did not notice, so lost was he in rut. He merely sensed that she clenched around his fingers and then relaxed. "Ah, Zamin," he groaned, and let himself spill.

He lay panting for a time and then began to laugh softly. Some lover he was! "Of course, having made you mine," he said, as if to make a jest of it, "I would become yours as well. But I would soon become of no use to you, for the king's surgeon would see to it I became no use to any woman at all. Other than my lovely singing voice, that is."

He paused to clean the two of them up with the corner of the bed sheet. Thank Elbereth for discreet maids. He came too near the knife already.

"Is it true, then Maitimo, what they say about the _Nimîr_?" she asked. "That if a man lies with a woman, he ties himself to her?"

Legolas shrugged. "So it is said. Some of my folk begin to doubt, but so far no one has been willing to make the experiment. And truly, lady, we do not take these things lightly. Already, I grow too fond of you. Bond or not, if I were to lie with you, I would be unable to disguise it. We would be lost."

He waited for her to ask him the obvious question of why such a one would choose the life of a courtesan. But instead she looked at him with genuine kindness. "Then we must see that it does not happen, Maitimo."

She kissed him then and rested her head against his chest.

After a time, he said, "You deserve better, Zamin. You deserve a man who can actually give you the things I spoke of just now as empty boasts. Not this adolescent . . . play."

She sighed and laughed. "I suppose I do deserve better. But whoever said life was fair?"

At this, he gave a belly laugh that bounced her head on his chest. "You knew Barlomi? Those are his words."

"Indeed I did," she replied. "A very inventive young man, Master Barlomi. But his heart was not in it. Not like you, Maitimo. I rather think he preferred my brother."

Having met Barlomi, Legolas rather thought Zamin was right. "I am sorry, Zamin. Was there no one, ever?" he asked, daring, in the afterglow of their intimacy, to be so bold.

"Once, long ago in my youth," she said. "A young man in my father's court looked upon me in the same way as Lord Azrulbar gazes upon Nimitha. I found him fair as well, but it was impossible, of course. My fate was sealed and to the east I must go. When I returned, all had changed. He became embittered, they told me. To this day, he has not met my eye." She propped herself up on one elbow, turned to him and smiled. "Do not trouble yourself, Maitimo. As hard as the life of a _bêthnaru_ can be, at least you do not have the obligations of royalty. We accept it as our duty."

Legolas bit his lip and made no answer.

* * *

Legolas sat beside Huzun's bed, listening to the Vizier snore and mutter words of passion in his sleep. He had quickly realized that it would look strange if he were to be seen leaving Huzun's apartments soon after arriving, given the detailed memories Huzun would have of their supposed encounters, so he had taken to bringing a book to read to pass the time.

His current reading matter was yet another work of Haradran philosophy, this time, a treatise on the nature of reality itself. Legolas found this ironic, given that as he read he paused from time to time to dictate fantasies of exotic bed play into the ear of the sleeping Vizier; visions that he would mistake for reality upon awaking. It made Legolas stop to ponder the nature of his own life, for could he truly say that his own past memories were not dreams placed into his head by some superior, unknowable being? He did not find it to be an entirely comfortable thought.

Today, Legolas felt tired and out of sorts. Over the past weeks and months, he had made imaginative use of the Gondorian scrolls, turning the tables on Huzun at first in the spirit of revenge, but then discovering in the man an unsuspected enjoyment of being the object of his own painful games. However, innovation had run dry, and Legolas had at last had his fill of whips and other sinister toys, both as giver and receiver.

So what, he thought, if Huzun should find today's activities lacking? He had more gifts of fine jewelry than he knew what to do with. If the Vizier withheld his gratitude henceforth, so be it. He shut his book and bent to Huzun's ear. "Today, we make love, you and I. Gently, tenderly, no pain . . ."

Huzun began to writhe in the old familiar pantomime and Legolas, bored, turned his attention back to his book. He had read no more than a few paragraphs when he heard a whispered sigh from the bed, "Zamin . . ."

Legolas slowly swiveled his head to look down at the sleeping man. He decided his imagination had not been playing tricks on him, for Huzun's face had softened from its usual haughty sneer into an expression of tender longing. "Zamin," he muttered again as he spent himself into his sheets.

"Oh, _Rodyn_. . . " Legolas whispered. The Lady Zamin had mentioned a young courtier, embittered. Huzun was the right age. What turned a man sour, other than the pain of loss and the powerlessness to prevent it? Would wonders never cease? Legolas had thought that if he lived until _Ardhon Meth,_ he would never feel sympathy for Huzun, yet life, in its strange way, had just taught him differently.

Feeling a lump in his throat, Legolas again set aside his book and bent to the Vizier's ear.

"My lord," he said softly, "there is a better way . . ."

* * *

"One, two, three, four, five, six, seven!" Zori clapped her hands with glee as she scooped a pile of coins from the sand.

The two of them knelt in the corner of Legolas's garden, playing a strategy game Zori had taught him, that consisted of distributing coins among a series of twelve pits arranged in a circle in the sand, half belonging to Legolas and the other half to Zori. The aim was quite simple; to sow from one's own pits such that the final coin landed in an opponent's, capturing the contents. They had started out playing for pebbles, but Legolas had early on suggested they make it more interesting by playing for coins, his gold against Zori's coppers.

As a sharp-eyed, sharp-minded elf, Legolas had little trouble remembering how many coins were in each pit, which was the secret to winning the game.

"Ten of them in that pit! If you keep on like that, you will impoverish me," Legolas protested. In truth, he had more money than he knew what to do with, so he generally let the lady win, although not so obviously as to embarrass her.

"Zori," he began, as he counted out six coins from his own pit, "I have a question for you. It concerns Lord Huzun."

Zori looked up sharply. "Has he hurt you?"

Legolas bit back a smile. The idea that he had a protector in this little woman warmed his heart, as ludicrous as it seemed. "No. At least nothing that is not all in a day's work. But I see you know his . . . reputation."

"More than I care to," Zori scowled. "I may be a servant, but I hear a thing or two. That man does not like _bêthnari._ "

"And yet he consorts with them. I find it . . . interesting." Legolas pretended to frown as he scooped two coins from Zori's pit, having left three behind. "Ai, luck is not with me today," he muttered dramatically.

"It is, considering . . ." Zori began, but stopped quickly, lowering her eyes. 

"Ah, a secret of the court, perhaps?" Legolas prodded. 

"Not such a secret, at least not among the lowly folk," Zori replied. "This is just servants' gossip, mind you."

"That is the best kind," Legolas laughed, thinking of Galion back home, who always knew everyone's business. "There is not a servant who does not know more about the doings of the court than the king himself and delights in sharing it."

"Except for the Lady Zamin's maid," said Zori, giving Legolas a pointed look. "I think that woman's mother mated with a clam." She scooped up four coins from one of her pits and began to sow them out.

Legolas blushed. "You were saying something about Lord Huzun . . .?"

"Mmmm. Yes. From what I have heard, our Vizier, as a young man, loved a certain princess whose hand was being sought by the Easterlings as part of a treaty. This was back in the day of our old king, Khorlai's father."

"Interesting." Legolas did not react as Zori's last coin landed in a pit with eight of his own. "Much like our young Azrulbar inside."

"I can only pray the young lord's fate goes better than Huzun's. Huzun resolved not to lose his love, and to this end, he enlisted the aid of the old king's favorite, a _bêthnaru_ by the name of Manôlôkhî, to speak on his behalf. This _bêthnaru_ asked payment for exercising his influence over the besotted king."

"Gold?" said Legolas, taking his turn and sowing out coins.

Zori shook her head and pursed her lips into a thin line. "Huzun had little gold to offer. Manôlôkhî demanded favors -- bed favors, or so it is said. And Huzun did it -- lay with Manôlôkhî for love of the princess. Alas for him, for Manôlôkhî dealt double. He took the Easterling ambassador's gold as well, and the payment was higher. I was not present, of course, because I served as only a kitchen maid in those days, but those who were say that the look on Huzun's face when the old king announced his daughter's marriage was a terrible thing to behold. From that day he . . . did not care much for the _bêthnari._ "

Legolas sighed. "Truly, he does not. Nor does he care much for himself, I deem."

"Maitimo," Zori said timidly, "is it true, the tales they tell of him? I worry about you."

Legolas shrugged. "I can take care of myself. It was others I feared for." He did no longer. "One, two three, four, five . . ." He paused, realizing that in his distraction he had not planned out his move well. The pit he landed in contained ten of Zori's coins.

"Oh dear," she said noticing her impending loss.

"I will give you a choice, dear lady," he said, laughing. "My prize, or a kiss. Which will it be?"

"A woman has to be practical," she said. "You may have a kiss."

"Excellent! That is my choice as well," he said sweeping her into his arms and kissing her saucily.

"Ah-hem! Must I always rescue my nurse from your clutches, Master Maitimo?"

Legolas pulled back quickly. By the _Rodyn_ , Nimitha could move almost as silently as Aragorn when she tried!

"We must leave now," Nimitha said, watching Zori collect her coins. Legolas noticed that her eyes seemed reddened and that Azrulbar hung back in the doorway, looking woebegone.

Once the two women had departed, Azrulbar at last stepped out from behind the divan, moving stiffly. "Do not look at me to deal with that," said Legolas, noting the young man's state, one which Legolas understood only too well. "You may use my washroom if you wish."

Azrulbar nodded curtly and disappeared. He would not be gone very long, Legolas thought. Legolas poured himself a glass of wine and lay back on the divan. What train of events had he set into motion here, and where would they lead, he mused? He worried for Azrulbar and Nimitha, but for Zamin, after hearing Zori's tale, he feared a little less.

* * *

" _Ai, nuath_ ," Legolas muttered, as Phazan's black Vizier took his queen. Just as quickly, Legolas's mounted horseman finished off the Vizier. The game drew to a close. Phazan had now lost all his pieces save his king and a few pawns, while Legolas retained the knight as well as his king. "You play a fierce game, my friend. I fear I must yield to you."

"No, Maitimo, you defended well. I no longer have any piece that can take your king, and it is a stalemate at best." The librarian smiled. Of late he did this more and more, as if forgetting how the expression twisted his scarred cheek, and indeed, Legolas barely noticed the wound anymore. "You and I are evenly matched."

Legolas laughed. "So it would seem. I am too used to losing, since my regular chess partner almost always beats me."

"And your regular partner would be . . .?"

"My father," Legolas said quickly, deciding that truth was the best course of action. Phazan could be unnervingly perceptive of any outright falsehood.

"He taught you well," Phazan said, with a sigh. "Fathers and sons are a strange thing. I fear that to my own father, I am somewhat of a . . . disappointment."

Legolas bit his lip. He had not betrayed to Phazan that he knew of his true identity and would not do so now. "My lord, shall I see you at dinner tonight?" 

Phazan shook his head, with a bitter smile. "I think not."

"I sing almost every night," Legolas pressed, "but it would please me if, for once, you were listening."

Phazan sighed. "Look at me, Maitimo," he said gesturing helplessly at his ruined face, and it gave Legolas a pang to notice that he forgot and did so with his stump rather than his remaining hand. "Would you like to see . . . this across your dinner table? I was considered to be fair to look upon, once. No woman will have me now, and I would not even ask it of a _bêthnaru_. I may no longer be handsome, but at least I may still be considerate."

"Truly, my lord," said Legolas, "I no longer see it."

"Indeed? Do you not? If I were to ask you to . . . ?" Phazan shook his head and smiled sadly. "No, Maitimo, have no fear. Your friendship has meant much to me. I will never presume."

Realizing he was holding his breath, Legolas let it out slowly and discreetly. "As you will, my lord."

* * *

"Sing for us, Maitimo."

"What song have you for us tonight, _Nimru_?"

Legolas bowed and smiled as he took his place before the court, harp in hand. He had just the song in mind for this evening, one he had learned in a tavern in Gondor, drinking one night with Gimli. Upon hearing it the dwarf had snorted with the sound of a backing up drain and spilled his ale down his beard. A touch of ribald humor would be perfect for a court where Legolas now felt entirely at ease.

Legolas smiled at King Khorlai, who nodded and smiled back. On the king's left sat Zamin, who gazed at him warmly yet had a pensive air about her tonight. Legolas caught her eye and began:

_"There was a knight and he was young,  
Riding along the way;  
And he met a lady fair   
Among the cocks of hay._

_"He said, 'Shall you and I lady  
Among the grass lie down?  
And I will have a special care   
Of the rumpling of your gown.'"_

Zamin quirked the corner of her mouth up, and Legolas grinned back.

' _"If you will go along with me  
Unto my father's hall,  
You shall enjoy my maidenhead  
And my estate and all.'"_

Upon hearing these words, Nimitha, who sat to Khorlai's right, leaned her chin upon her hand and sighed.

_"So he mounted her on a milk white steed,  
Himself upon another,  
And they went out on the road  
Like sister and like brother."_

From his lower table, Azrulbar stared back, his face bereft. _'Take care, young man,'_ Legolas thought. _'Your feelings show.'_

At the table of the _bêthnari,_ Legolas saw Yanâkhim fidget and stifle a dramatic yawn. Legolas made a face and fluttered dark lashes that needed little kohl in the young man's direction, eliciting a scowl. He smiled sweetly and started the next verse.

_"But when they came to her father's house  
Which was moated all about,  
She stepped straight within the gate  
And shut that young knight out."_

Suddenly, Huzun rose from his chair and walked round the king's table. Legolas almost missed a note, tensing for trouble. Had the Vizier seen the longing looks between the young courtier and the princess and decided to put an end to it?

_"'If you should see a lady fair  
As you go through the town,  
You must not fear the dewy grass  
Nor the rumpling of her gown.'"_

Instead of going to the king, Huzun spoke a word to the courtier who sat beside Zamin. The man nodded and rose, relinquishing his seat to the Vizier, who sat down in his place. As Legolas began the final verse, he saw Huzun whisper into Zamin's ear.

_"And should you see a lady gay  
As you ride past the hill,  
If you will not when you may,  
You shall not when you will."_

Zamin turned to look at Huzun in surprise. What had he said, Legolas wondered, to put that look on her face? He struck a final chord on his harp and sang:

_"For if you will not when you may,  
You shall not when you will."_

Before Legolas could pay any more attention to Huzun, Khorlai raised a hand to silence the applause. "Lovely, lovely as usual, _Nimru._ Your words inspire me to retire early tonight."

Legolas bowed. "Then I wish His Majesty a gracious good evening."

"Ah, no, Maitimo," Khorlai said. "I wish you to join me."

Although the words were sweetened with a benign smile and couched as a request, Legolas recognized an order when he heard one. _'A, Elbereth!'_ he thought. ' _The moment for which I came to Harad is upon me.'_

Schooling his features into a mask of princely serenity, Legolas moved forward on the balls of his feet, feeling the familiar prickle of battle readiness course through his veins. He barely jumped as Khorlai laid a hand upon his shoulder. At the last moment, he turned and let his gaze sweep the hall. On the second story of the chamber was what, at home in Gondor, would be called a minstrels' gallery, screened off by a carved wood grille. Legolas saw a silhouette behind the screen, a figure that shrank back into the shadows as soon as he spied it.

' _He came to hear me sing after all,'_ Legolas thought. _'Ah, Phazan . . .'_

"Come, _Nimru,_ " said Khorlai, tightening his grip upon Legolas's shoulder. "The night is still young."

* * * * * * *

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> **Translations:**  
>  _Ardhon Meth:_ World's End  
>  _Nimru,_ ": Beautiful One, Elf.  
>  _Nimîr_ : Elves  
>  _bêthnari_ : Courtesans


	10. To Grasp At Moonbeams Glistening

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The chapter you've all been waiting for. Legolas loses his virginity and I lose all credibility as a proper canon writer. Special warning for this chapter: recreational drug use and graphic male/male activity.

_"And one by one with sighing sound  
Whispering fell the beechen leaves . . .  
And doom fell on Tinuviel . . . "_

_JRR Tolkien_

 

Legolas looked about with the practiced, observant eyes of a Woodland scout, ever alert to danger as he trailed Khorlai through his private chambers. As might be expected for the ruler, Khorlai's apartments were far grander than those of his family and subjects. They proceeded first through a smaller audience chamber, then a study not unlike Thranduil's at home, with a desk for performing whatever business the monarch might need to do and shelves of books all round the walls. Bowing servants opened the doors for them at each step, and at each step Khorlai dismissed them with an imperious wave of his hand. "I think the two of us will wish privacy for this evening," Khorlai said, winking in Legolas's direction.

The bedchamber itself was larger than usual, consisting of a sitting area with divans and brightly colored cushions and the bed itself, plainly visible through a wide doorway draped in silk. Both rooms gave onto a large courtyard in which a huge fountain played. Legolas could hear the soothing sound of the water and see the glint of moonlight off the bubbling spray.

Khorlai sat down upon a sumptuous divan behind a low table and motioned Legolas to sit also. Legolas chose an overstuffed hassock, not the closest to Khorlai, yet not the farthest away either. He hoped it set the right tone for the evening. He still had his harp with him, and he let it lean against his leg, clutching it for security in the way he had clung to a little stuffed deer he had been most fond of as a child.

Legolas watched as Khorlai took up a decanter of red wine from the low table, but rather than pouring a goblet, he filled the glass chamber of a strange device that rested in the table's center. He opened a carved wooden box that lay next to it and took out a small cake of dark, resinous material, breaking off a tiny chunk and putting it into the bowl at the top of the device.

 _'Nuath!'_ thought Legolas, as Khorlai used a punk stick to transfer the flame from a small oil lamp to the material and drew air in through a long flexible tube. _'The adan is going to smoke!'_

Sure enough, smoke bubbled up through the ruddy wine and filled the top part of the chamber with a thick, dark haze. The odor was nothing like the pipeweed which Legolas had barely come to tolerate out of fondness for Aragorn, being sweet and pungent, and it cloyed strangely at his nostrils. Khorlai held a second tube out companionably. "Do you care to?"

Legolas shook his head politely, trying not to sneeze and wishing he could move closer to the open door to the garden without causing offense. "Ah, no thank you."

"Then have some wine, Maitimo. I insist."

Legolas poured a glass of the thick red. "And you, my lord?"

Khorlai nodded. "Please. We may even drink the wine from my pipe when I am through. The effect is quite interesting."

"I daresay, my lord," Legolas responded. He sipped his wine carefully, making it last. He did not want to become intoxicated and lose the edge of his wits, and already the smoke had begun to go to his head. "This is an unexpected honor, my lord."

Khorlai laughed. "I wanted to give the rest of my family ample chance to enjoy you before sampling your exclusive company for myself. My sister speaks very highly of you Maitimo. And my daughter as well."

Legolas felt a flush creep up his neck despite himself. "My lord, the princess and I spend our time in conversation, song and games. No more, I assure you." 

"Games indeed," Khorlai chuckled. "Have no fear, _Nimru,_ I trust you with my daughter, else I would not have allowed her visits to you to continue. I shall have to find her a husband soon, though."

The king leaned back on the divan and took a long pull from the water pipe, holding the smoke in his lungs and then letting it drift out through his nose in lazy curls. "Of late my mind has turned to Gondor in this matter. What better way to turn a former enemy into an ally than through a marriage? Tell me, Maitimo, what do you think of this plan?"

Legolas took his time, answering carefully. "My lord, the princess Nimitha is exquisite. I cannot think of any among my countrymen who would not be delighted and honored to have her as a bride. But King Elessar already has a queen. His Steward, the Prince of Emyn Arnen has a wife also. Alas, there is no one else in Gondor who is of her station." This was not precisely true, Legolas knew, even as he spoke. Imrahil of Dol Amroth had sons, but Legolas was not about to help Khorlai break his daughter's heart by suggesting yet another prince to sell her off to.

"Indeed," said Khorlai, taking another long draw of his pipe, along with a sip of wine. "My sources tell me that there is another lord of high degree in Elessar's kingdom. They say Elessar granted land in Ithilien to a colony of _Nimîr_ in gratitude to a brother-in-arms for his services during the recent war. Do you think this Elven-lord of Ithilien might make a good marriage prospect for my daughter?"

Legolas cleared his throat, for a small amount of his wine had gone down the wrong way. "My lord, it is not the custom of my people to marry for anything other than love, be they high or low."

"And you think this Elven-lord would not love my daughter?"

"I cannot speak for him, my lord, but I think he would find her enchanting. Yet in matters of the heart, it might not be enough. In truth, I fear it would be the other way round -- Princess Nimitha might find him lacking. No, my lord, I fear that marrying your daughter to the Elven-lord of Ithilien would be a very bad idea."

Legolas paused, while Khorlai studied him evenly and took another draw from his pipe.

"In fact . . . Majesty, may I speak candidly?"

"Why not?" Khorlai said, looking amused. "It is an honored tradition here in Harad to listen to the advice of our courtesans in matters of state."

Legolas colored a little but pressed on. He could not afford pass up his only opportunity to help Nimitha and Azrulbar for fear of being thought impertinent. "My lord, in matters of marriage, the Second Born are not so different to my people. It is not good to force the heart where it does not wish to go, and the kings of Gondor learned more than once that an unhappy marriage does not make a good alliance. Why risk sending your daughter to such a fate when your own court holds at least one splendid young man worthy of being her consort?"

Khorlai pursed his lips and blew out his draft of smoke. "Your words have wisdom, Maitimo, and the experience of my dear sister bears this out. A splendid man like, say, young Lord Azrulbar? He has visited you quite often, I am told. You seem to know him well enough to judge whether he would make a good husband for my daughter. Apt unto the begetting of heirs, is he?"

Legolas knew he must be blushing scarlet. "Yes, my lord. Very apt, and a much better choice than some strange elf whom you know nothing of."

"Very well, then, _Nimru,_ " Khorlai smiled enigmatically. "So be it. I shall surely take your words under advisement." He took another long pull of smoke. "And now I am curious, Maitimo. Is your body as lithe as your tongue?"

"I beg your pardon, my lord?"

"I want you to dance, Maitimo. Just for me."

Legolas looked around. "Without accompaniment, my lord? I see no musicians about."

"What about your lovely voice, Maitimo? Can you not sing and dance at the same time?"

Indeed he could, Legolas realized. There could perhaps be found somewhere in Ennor an elf who could not walk and chew a twig at the same time, but Legolas was not that elf. Had Lúthien needed harpists when her solitary dance captured the heart of Beren? Had her mother, Melian, required flautists other than the piping lilt of nightingales when her dance stopped Elu Thingol dead in his tracks in the starlit wood of Nan Elmoth and kept an entire people from Valinor?

Legolas was neither Melian nor Lúthien. His skill lay in the courtly dances to please the ladies of his father's realm. But he could do as Khorlai asked, and the memory of the two great ladies of his Grey-elven heritage gave him inspiration. He knew what he would sing.

Legolas rose and bowed low. "Aye, my lord. With your gracious leave . . ."

He kicked off his shoes, feeling the cool touch of the marble on his bare feet. With an effort of will, he imagined the touch of soft dew-soaked grass, under starlight. He cleared his throat and began:

" _The leaves were long, the grass was green,  
The hemlock umbels tall and fair,  
And in the glade a light was seen  
Of stars in shadow shimmering.  
Tinuviel was dancing there  
To music of a pipe unseen . . ._"

As the notes left his throat, Legolas began to sway his body, imagining the sinuous undulations of the lovely Lúthien, thinking herself alone in the starlit glade of her father's woods. Backward and forward, he circled lightly, taking care to avoid the hassocks and cushions in the way, but all the time imagining the soft grass of Nan Elmoth beneath his feet rather than Khorlai's polished floor. The song changed then.

" _There Beren came from mountains cold,  
And lost he wandered under leaves . . ._ "

Beren, son of Barahir, fleeing enemies and mourning the death of all he had known and loved. Legolas put himself into a crouch, imagining himself wielding his knives as he fought unseen foes. He dipped and whirled, leaping high in the air and landing as lightly as a cat. Then he paused as if spying for the first time, the elf-maiden with golden flowers on her sleeves and hair trailing behind her like a shadow.

" _Enchantment healed his weary feet  
That over hills were doomed to roam  
And forth he hastened, strong and fleet,  
And grasped at moonbeams glistening._"

Khorlai's eyes had gone as dark as twin spheres of obsidian, as he lay back against the divan, wreathed in smoke. "You begin to perspire, _Nimru._ You wear too much. Take off your shirt."

As light as the silk was, Legolas did indeed find it overly warm. He undid the fasteners with fumbling fingers and tossed the garment in the king's direction. Tendrils of the sweet smoke wove their way into his nostrils and brain, and he felt dizzy. He shut his eyes to concentrate on the vision of Lúthien dancing.

Again, in the persona of the elf-maid, Legolas swayed and tossed his hair about him, feeling imaginary mists curl up around his bare toes. He sang the words he knew by heart, having heard them so often from the lips of Aragorn:

" _One moment stood she, and a spell  
His voice laid on her: Beren came,  
And doom fell on Tinuviel  
That in his arms lay_ \-- eep!"

Legolas let out a cry of surprise as he found himself brought up short in his dance, chest to chest with Khorlai, who had risen and approached him unheard.

"Beautiful . . . so very beautiful you are," he said and kissed Legolas full on the mouth.

The sensation of a tongue circling his own and the taste of wine and the strange sweet smoke brought Legolas back to reality very quickly. He almost jerked away, but the king's left arm had encircled his waist, holding him fast. The other hand dropped low, fondling him appraisingly.

"How disappointing, "Khorlai said. "I had hoped you would like me better, _Nimru._ But no matter -- I can change that." He claimed Legolas's lips again.

 _'Ai, Belair, this is going too fast!_ ' Legolas thought desperately, realizing too late that his dance had been too provocative. _'Idiot, fool!'_ he silently chided. It was no longer possible to tactfully refuse the king now. Only one way out remained.

Legolas drew back slightly, looked into Khorlai's eyes and whispered the sleep-spell that had served him so well with Lord Huzun these past months.

The king's eyes lost focus for a moment. Then he blinked and shook his head as if to clear it. "Perhaps, Maitimo, you are unaware that some of my forebears were among those whom you Gondorians call the Black Numenoreans," he said with an enigmatic smile. "I have the blood of the _Nimîr_ in my veins, and I do not count myself among the weak-minded prone to such fey influence. Not like my Vizier, who has seemed these past months to be incredibly well rested considering the considerable exertions he reports."

Legolas swallowed and stared, feeling suddenly very cold, despite the heat of the summer evening.

"In fact, Maitimo, I wonder if you are whom you claim to be," Khorlai continued. "I would truly hate to think that Elessar has sent me a spy rather than a courtesan. I might even find it to be a hostile act from a man who claims he wants peace between our lands."

 _'Ai, nuath, what now?'_ thought Legolas. Suddenly he recalled Barlomi's words to him: _'You will never be put into a situation where you have not at least a choice. I cannot promise you, though, that either choice will be to your liking.'_

The choice lay before him plainly: fulfill the role of courtesan with Khorlai, now, tonight, or admit the truth and walk out. Assuming Khorlai would let him walk out without imprisoning and executing him for a spy. Even if he were allowed to leave, any chance for peace with Harad would be lost. In his mind's eye, Legolas again saw the Fields of the Pelennor, littered with the dead and dying on both sides. Such a cost in blood and life, versus . . . himself.

Barlomi had spoken the truth. Legolas would not be forced. He had a choice, but neither was to his liking. No, not at all to his liking.

"Well, Maitimo," Khorlai said quietly, running a finger over the mark of the Elessar tattooed on Legolas's chest. "Which are you, _bêthnaru_ or spy?"

Legolas took a deep breath. "My lord, I am no spy. This, I swear to you."

Khorlai smiled. "I hoped that would be your answer. I would much rather be turning down my sheets than summoning my guards. This night will be sweet, _Nimru._ "

He paused to undo the fastenings of Legolas's trousers, which slid to the floor in a whisper of silk. He stepped back to look, and Legolas could see the pupils of his eyes dancing with pleasure at what he beheld. "Ah, your name fits you, Maitimo, for you are well-made indeed." He took Legolas by the hand, leading him toward the bed. "Come, I have waited long enough."

Toward the bed . . . where he would soon lie with another man. Unthinkable! This could not be happening, Legolas told himself, and yet it was happening with an implacable swiftness. Legolas felt much as he had upon the barren plain before the Morannon, standing perhaps on the very spot where his grandfather had given up his life, wanting to run away, hide, be anywhere else. But duty held him, and promises made, and the need to protect those he loved, no matter what the cost to him personally.

In those last moments before the Black Gate opened, Legolas had steadied himself with the memory of his father's favorite saying, words which had formed the basis of his life: "Kings rule, and princes serve."

 _'Yes, Father,'_ he thought, gathering courage for what was to come. _'Yes they do.'_

Legolas forced himself into passivity as Khorlai turned him and pushed him gently face down onto the bed. He buried his face in the pillows as he heard the rustle of the king's own garments falling to the ground and felt the weight of the man sink the mattress beside him. Naked limbs pressed against him, and hot hands stroked over his skin, moving down over his flanks and parting his buttocks. Oiled fingers probed his backside, easing, stretching. "Ahh, King Elessar has sent me a very rich gift indeed!" Khorlai exclaimed, raining soft kisses down upon Legolas's back and shoulders.

Legolas could not help tensing as the fingers were withdrawn and replaced by the tip of Khorlai's own flesh. "Have no fear, Beautiful One," the king whispered, his breath tickling Legolas's ear. "I am an old warrior; I know how to sink a lance."

' _Oh, Aragorn, the things I do for you . . .'_ Legolas thought, as Khorlai pushed forward.

Khorlai was not a large man, and for this, Legolas was grateful, but even so, this was an invasion indeed! _'Breathe, breathe,'_ he told himself, trying hard not to clench his teeth or grip the sheets in his fists. _'You're a warrior; you've had worse. Breathe and it will soon be over.'_

"Oh, Maitimo, you are as soft as rose petals," said Khorlai, when he had fully sheathed himself at last. "You feel so good to me, _Nimru._ "

' _Good for you perhaps,'_ thought Legolas as Khorlai began to rock into him. Was there supposed to be pleasure in this act? So Legolas had been given to understand, from the whispered comments of his fellow soldiers and from the scrolls he had studied. If it were true, he had yet to experience it.

"Easy now," Khorlai crooned. "Very soon . . ."

' _Oh, Belair, yes, please let this be over soon,'_ thought Legolas. He did not know how much more he could -- "Ah!" he gasped as Khorlai brushed something deep inside, sending a jolt of pleasure shooting through him.

"Ah, there, I have found it," said Khorlai, adjusting the angle of his movements to hit this spot with every stroke. He reached around to the front, burrowing his hand in beneath Legolas's body to grasp already hardening flesh. "Now you begin to feel, _Nimru,_ how sweet this can be. I told you I could change it."

Legolas made no answer, for he could not trust his voice not to utter the name of Elbereth under such profane circumstances. He gave a little sob of either pain or pleasure -- did it truly matter which? -- and buried his face into the pillow, surrendering himself to the sensation of being worked fore and aft.

He felt the old familiar feeling slowly building, as a burning tickle in his groin and lower belly, and without conscious volition, his body began to move with the rhythm, thrusting forward into Khorlai's hand and back to meet him. The king's breath was hot in his ear and against his hair, whispering endearments and words of encouragement. "Yes, beautiful Maitimo, yes. Let it happen. Come for me now, yes . . ."

At last Legolas could hold back no longer, and with a whimper, he spent himself into Khorlai's sheets. When he finally came back to himself, Khorlai had finished and withdrawn himself gently. The king lay spooned against his side, his hand absently stroking Legolas's flank.

" _Nimru . . ._?"

"Mmmm . . ."

"You slept for a time," Khorlai laughed.

Legolas merely sighed, too drained and overwhelmed to answer. He had no doubt his mind had gone somewhere else for a bit. 

"Maitimo . . .?" Khorlai said, as Legolas felt himself drifting off again.

"Mmmmm . . .?"

"How long does it take one of your kind to recover your powers?"

Legolas struggled to recapture his scattered wits. "I don't know. Not long, I think." Truly, it had never been an issue before, but he could hardly admit that to Khorlai. "Why do you ask?"

"Because, Beautiful One, I have a fast and firm rule: in my bed, turnabout shall be fair play." He paused and kissed the tip of Legolas's ear, again stroking him in the front. "Ah . . . I see it will not be long at all. Truly, Maitimo, the night is still young, and I am going to enjoy this . . ."

* * * * * * *

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> **Translations:**  
>  _'Nuath!'_ : Shadows! (Sindarin)  
>  _Nimîr_ : Elves (Adunaic)  
>  _bêthnaru_ : courtesan
> 
>  **Author's Note:**  
>  Legolas's song in this chapter is The Song of Beren and Luthien, JRR Tolkien, from Fellowship of the Ring.


	11. As Boundless as the Sea

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The morning after . . .

_My bounty is as boundless as the sea  
My love as deep.  
The more I give, the more I have,  
For both are infinite._

_Wm Shakespeare, Romeo & Juliet_

 

Legolas awoke in Khorlai's bed to the cry of a peacock and the play of the fountain outside. Pink light splashed the walls of the king's bedchamber. The hour was early still.

Experimentally, he moved a leg and clenched a deep muscle. He felt sore, to be sure, but no worse than what he would have expected from a good workout with his bow, or from some other unaccustomed exertion.

Thinking back on the night before, Legolas supposed he ought to feel sullied in some fashion. If the legends were to be trusted, he should be halfway to fading from grief and shame. And yet he found he felt quite the opposite. He felt rather good, actually, and it surprised him.

He had lain with another man and had found it not entirely unpleasant. Never would he have thought that could be possible, yet Khorlai had proved a kind and encouraging lover, never seeming to notice Legolas's inexperience and his amazement at the sensations that two bodies could provide, as he first took and then allowed himself to be taken. And then . . . Legolas smiled and felt the blood rush to his cheeks as he recalled the night.

The king's arm was still draped gently around his middle, and he felt it tighten. "Good morning, Maitimo. Do you always sleep with your eyes open?"

Legolas rolled over to meet Khorlai's gaze. The king lay on his side, his head propped on one bent elbow, smiling at him lazily. "Not always, my lord. There are a few places where I feel secure enough -- my father's house, my own and several others -- where I close my eyes to sleep. This is the way of my Folk."

Khorlai sighed. "I would that I could keep you here with me until you felt safe enough in my bed to close your eyes in rest. It would be a rare gift to see one of the _Nimîr_ sleep the true sleep. But I fear such is not to be. I think it is time for me to send you home, Maitimo."

Legolas tensed. "Have I offended or displeased in some way, my lord?"

"On the contrary, Beautiful One," Khorlai said. "You have performed admirably. I would keep you longer, but I need you to carry a message to your king. Your mission here is complete. You shall return home with my permission for Gondor to send us ambassadors."

 _'Elbereth be praised,'_ Legolas thought. "I thank you graciously, my lord. Shall I retire to my own chambers now?"

"Yes," Khorlai sighed. "You may."

Legolas rose, retrieved his trousers from the spot where they had slid to the floor the previous evening, and returned to the bed to sit and pull them on.

"Elessar must be a very great king," Khorlai said at last, "to inspire such loyalty in his friends. Someone like that must be worthy of my trust as well."

Legolas grew still, studying his bare toes, one foot in his trousers, the other halfway. "My lord," he replied quietly, "Aragorn, son of Arathorn is a man among men. I would die for him."

"Ah, I see," Khorlai said. "Well, I hope you shall never have to. It is my wish that henceforth no one of our folk shall have to give up his life in conflict with the other. You have done a brave thing, Maitimo."

Legolas inclined his head. "Aye, my lord." He went to pick up his shirt and found it draped over the low table near the spent water-pipe.

"Maitimo . . ." said Khorlai, as Legolas began to thread his arms into his sleeves.

"My lord?"

"I feel I owe you an apology for last night."

Legolas turned to Khorlai and furrowed his brow. "How so?"

"I pressed you, _Nimru._ It is not my custom to take favors where they are not offered freely, be it from _bêthnaru_ or any other. I have no excuse for myself, other than I drank too much wine, smoked too much _kief_ and let myself be carried away by the magic of the evening." Khorlai paused and sighed. "And . . ."

"And, what, my lord?" Legolas waited patiently.

"You must forgive me, Maitimo. I could not resist the opportunity to taste such beauty and take it to myself, even if only for a fleeting moment. Unlike you First Born, we mortals do not have all the time in the world; we must take what joy we can in the brief years available to us, or not at all."

Legolas looked at the man on the bed, strong still, and lusty, as he had learned so well last night. But already the signs of age were upon him, his body marked with the scars of war and the shrinkage of time, his hair, both on his head and in the prickly mass at his groin thinly shot with grey. _'They do not last forever,'_ Legolas thought with a pang. _'Ai, it will take Aragorn thus. It will take them all.'_

"You sang the doom last night in your song, Maitimo," said Khorlai, as if sensing Legolas's thoughts. "For if you will not when you may . . ."

"You shall not when you will," Legolas finished softly.

"And so I reached out and took, while I might. Forgive me, _Nimru,_ but it was worth it. I will carry the memory of last night to the grave. You will remember me, too, I think, and to live forever in the mind of one such as you is all the immortality a Man can hope to have."

Legolas took in a deep breath. "Oh, that I shall, my lord."

"Please, Maitimo," said Khorlai with a wry smile, "I would, just this once, have no formality between us. I am not so ignorant of the ways of Gondor that I do not know the land has no tradition of the _bêthnari._ My gift of Barlomi, knowing that one would be expected in kind, was my subtle way of discovering how sincere Elessar is in his desire for peace. I do not know where he found you, or who you really are, and I shall not dishonor your privacy with my speculations. However, I wish to hear my name on your lips. You did just spend the night in my bed, after all."

 _'Ai, Rodyn, he knows,'_ Legolas told himself, momentarily at a loss for words.

'You may curse me for my deception, if you wish," Khorlai continued. "Just as long as you do it by my true name, as one man speaks to another."

Once again, Legolas found himself vacillating between feeling flattered and the wish to throttle. Khorlai had tricked him, knowingly, and yet . . . what had this _Adan_ done, save to pleasure him, treat him gently, and make him feel exquisitely desirable? Which should have been the task of Maitimo the _bêthnaru_ , had Legolas been in truth what he purported to be. 

_"The joys of love rest not so much in the groin as in the head. My job is to give my patrons the illusion of being desired as much as they desire me."_ In memory, Legolas heard the teasing tones of Barlomi's voice, and in his mouth he tasted again the flavor of bitter ale. Ai, Dwarven ale!

Khorlai had wished, like so many others, to grasp at a glistening moonbeam. How very, very . . . human.

Oh yes, he could curse him, but understanding at last his power to hurt and to heal, Legolas instead found himself laughing quietly. He rose, went to the head of the bed and laid a kiss upon the king's cheek. "No, Khorlai, I shall not curse you. Surely not for deception. I thank you, rather, for the lesson in life and mortality, which so many of my kind never learn. And I most certainly will never forget you."

And yet, as he retrieved his harp and made his way back to his own apartments, Legolas could not rid his mind of the vision of the vast deserts of years that lay before him; all eternity to mourn lost opportunities, and so little time in which to take them.

* * *

Two nights later, Legolas knocked softly upon the carved wooden door of a private apartment. After a time, the door opened, revealing the face of Phazan, his expression one of surprise at his obviously unexpected caller.

"May I come in?" Legolas said.

"Maitimo, I . . ."

"I know. You would not presume. But I will."

Phazan bit his lip and began to shake his head. "I don't want your pity."

"This has nothing to do with pity."

"What has it to do with, then?"

"This is nothing," said Legolas, reaching out to touch Phazan's ruined cheek. "You must believe me when I tell you that I do not see it anymore. My time with you has led me to see only the man behind it, and I find that man fair indeed. I come to you tonight not as a _bêthnaru_ , but as a friend. Shall we continue to discuss this in the hallway or are you going to let me in?"

Slowly, Phazan nodded, his one eye glistening brighter than usual. He stepped aside and motioned Legolas inside. "Did you bring a chessboard with you tonight?"

"No," said Legolas. "Just myself."

The door shut behind them.

* * *

Legolas squared his shoulders and held his head high as he entered Khorlai's throne room for the last time, so different from the first. Again, he walked the length of the hall, between ranks of assembled courtiers, once strangers, but whose faces were now familiar to him.

From the dais up ahead, Zamin caught his eye and smiled, a little sadly, Legolas thought. They had made their farewells in private, Zamin kissing him and wishing him well. _'Oh, Lady, I shall miss you too,'_ Legolas sighed to himself. But as the thought crossed his mind, he saw Huzun, who was standing close behind her, lay an affectionate hand on her shoulder. His previous haughty sneer had gone, and it seemed to Legolas that he looked almost tender. With a glance at Legolas and a gentle upturn of her mouth, Zamin reached up to stroke the Vizier's hand. Legolas nodded, his own smile becoming wistful.

On the other side of the dais, sat the Princess Nimitha, with her newly betrothed beside her. Khorlai, obviously a man of action once he had made up his mind, as Legolas knew all too well, had wasted no time announcing his daughter's marriage the evening before. In her newfound happiness, Nimitha glowed with an inner light that rivaled that of the First Born. Azrulbar, on his part, had the dazed, joyful look of a man who has strayed into a dream.

On the throne sat Khorlai himself, as magnificent and outwardly intimidating as the first time Legolas beheld him. Yet he looked into the king's dark eyes and met his smile with confidence, for he had seen this man in the throes of passion and had heard his pleasured sighs, as he died what the mortals called the small death. ' _Truly,'_ thought Legolas with an infinite tenderness, _'beneath the pomp and the power we are all the same.'_

Then Legolas drew in his breath, for, from the shadows behind the throne, a figure stepped forth. Phazan, having changed his librarian's garb for the robes of a prince and wearing a patch over his missing eye, came slowly forward to take his place at his father's side. Legolas caught Phazan's eye and smiled in encouragement, and the prince nodded back, as an approving murmur ran through the assembled court.

Legolas dropped to one knee. "My lord."

"Rise, Maitimo," Khorlai said. "Before I give you your commission, I have yet another joyous announcement in addition to the forthcoming marriage of my daughter. My son, after years in seclusion, has decided to return to public life." Khorlai dropped his voice so low that only elven ears could have heard his words. "Thank you, _Nimru._ Thank you."

Legolas looked into the king's eyes and nodded, unable for the moment to trust his voice.

"Master Maitimo," Khorlai continued, clearing his throat and raising his voice to kingly intonation as he handed a sealed packet to Legolas, "I charge you to carry this missive to Gondor and place it into the hand of your king. It is my hope that we can put aside the mistrust that has divided our peoples in the past. May the wind and wave speed your journey and the eye of The One watch over you."

"My Lord Khorlai," said Legolas, taking the packet and putting it inside his shirt, "I, Maitimo, Courtesan of the House of Elessar Telcontar, give you my thanks and take my leave."

With one final bow to Khorlai and his family, Legolas drew his cloak about him and turned to depart the throne room, striding between the ranks of waiting nobles.

At the very last, just before the attendants opened the huge brass doors for him, Legolas spied Yanâkhim the _bêthnaru_ sitting at the back of the audience chamber. He caught the young man's kohled eye, pausing to wink impishly. "All yours, my friend," he whispered aside, before going out into the bright light of the courtyard.

* * *

Only one task remained before making his way to the docks. Legolas knocked on a modest door in the servants' quarters of the palace, where a weary looking woman opened it to him. An older woman sat on a bench inside, and she looked up expectantly as she saw Legolas in the doorway. "Hello, Grandmama," Legolas said. "It is a pleasure to meet you at last."

"Have you brought me more of that candy?" the old lady said. "For it did me great good."

Legolas laughed. "You will have to ask Master Yanâkhim about that. I'm sure it can be arranged." He turned his attention back to the younger woman. "Mistress, I come on behalf of your son," he said, holding a heavy sack out to her.

Legolas had sold his jewels and other gifts in the past two days, turning them into gold coin, such as might not attract undue attention should it be found in the possession of a humble servant. "This is for Miki," he said, as the surprised mother took the bag. "It is enough to buy land, or a shop, or training in a trade. Anything other than he should be forced into the life of a soldier or a _bêthnaru_ to earn his bread. Keep this close and use it wisely." But as Legolas looked into the grateful eyes of Miki's mother, he knew she would.

"My lord . . ."

"Just Maitimo," he corrected gently.

"Maitimo . . . Miki would like to bid you farewell."

Legolas nodded, and the woman called into the interior of her rooms. Miki came out and the two of them went off a short way. Legolas sat down, leaning his back against the baked earth wall of a courtyard, while Miki squatted in the dirt beside him. 

"Master Maitimo, are you truly leaving?"

"Yes, Miki, I must. I have a letter to carry to my homeland. And then I have . . . other duties."

"I will miss you," the boy said.

"You will be all right," Legolas said. "You are to serve Princess Nimitha and Lord Azrulbar, I am told. I want you to be good and to be kind to Zori for me."

"I will still miss you, Master."

"And I you, child." Legolas sighed and smiled. "If ever you have need, Miki, just go north to where the men speak the Westron of Gondor, and then turn to the east and continue to where they speak something else. Once there, I promise you that the Grey-elven lord of Ithilien will give you a new life. Do you understand?"

The boy nodded.

"Good," Legolas said, looking into wide brown eyes. "But right now, your mother and your grandmother need you." He rose, brushing the dust from the seat of his trousers. "Run along home now, lad."

As the boy scampered off, Legolas turned and headed for the main gate, his harp slung over his shoulder.

Again, he made his way through dusty streets to the docks, a tall, pale figure among the shorter brown folk, but no longer did he feel himself a stranger, for he loved this land and its people, once his enemies. He felt as if he had come here a boy and was leaving as a man at last; the seduction had been complete.

No herons burst upward from the reeds as the boat carried him downriver. ' _It is summer,'_ he thought, _'and they are making their nests in the north, growing fat on the fish and raising their young. Home, where I am going now.'_

This time, as the ship beat its way northward up the coast, Legolas left his bunk and came up on deck, to stare out across the wide waters to the west. He watched all the day, while the sailors sang their songs and trimmed the sails all around him, as the light changed from the misty grey of dawn to the brilliant reds of the sunset. He still felt the call of the sea as a pulling tug in his belly with each roll of the waves, but he had an antidote against it now. Love would be his anchor; love would be his lodestone, binding him to Middle-earth until the last of his mortal friends had departed. Such a short time to tarry, compared to the long eternity that lay before him, and his heart would be the vessel that carried their memory onward into the future. He, Legolas Thranduilion, would be their immortality . . .

* * * * * * *

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> **Translations:**  
>  _Nimîr_ : Adunaic for Elves  
>  _Nimru,_ : Beautiful one, Elf  
>  _kief_ : Hashish  
>  _bêthnaru_ : courtesan, geisha  
>  _bêthnari._ : Plural


	12. Epilogue: World Enough, And Time

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Home to Gondor, and Legolas meets someone new . . .

_"The grave's a fine and private place,  
But none, I think, there do embrace . . ."_

_Andrew Marvell, 'To His Coy Mistress'_

 

 

"Well, Aragorn, I'm back." 

Legolas suppressed a smile as Aragorn jumped like a spooked cat and jerked his gaze up from the pile of official documents he had been studying. Aragorn the Ranger could move silently when he wanted to, but Legolas the Wood-elf could move more quietly still, and he enjoyed reminding Estel of this from time to time. He supposed the game would have to end someday, for with the advancing years, a sudden shock could stop an aging mortal heart. But for now, he enjoyed the look of surprise on his friend's face.

"Legolas . . . ? Legolas!" said Aragorn, as if he could not believe his eyes. Then he paused and peered closer. "Is that kohl you're wearing?"

Legolas immediately licked his forefinger and gave his lashes a quick swipe. "It comes in very handy for cutting the glare off the water on a sea journey," he explained, hoping that the colored salve he had applied to his lips as protection against the salt air had worn off.

"I must say, it looks very fetching on you," Aragorn said with a grin. "When did you get in?"

"Just now. I came straight from the docks. I thought you would wish to have this as soon as possible." He pulled out Khorlai's letter and tossed it onto Aragorn's desk.

Aragorn broke the seal and read hastily. "Elbereth be praised!" he exclaimed. "You did it!"

Legolas stood quietly as a cloud came over Aragorn's face. "And you, you are . . . ah, well?" Aragorn asked, in the unmistakable tone of a man skirting his most pressing question.

"Never better," Legolas said brightly, and left it at that.

"You, ah, had no trouble obtaining King Khorlai's agreement?"

 _'Poor Aragorn,'_ thought Legolas, touched by his friend's concern, but not quite willing to put him out of his misery. "It was a challenging task, to be sure, but nothing I could not handle in the end." He favored Aragorn with his most princely-serene smile and a look in his eye that said, _'That is all you are getting out of me, my friend.'_

Aragorn stared at him long and hard. "Thank you, Legolas," he said at last.

Legolas shrugged. "Don't mention it. Such is my job, after all. So, tell me Aragorn, has Gondor fared well in my absence?"

A smile brighter than Anor at high noon suffused Aragorn's face. "It has, and on that score, there is someone you must meet . . ."

* * *

The newborn princess lay asleep in her mother's arms as Aragorn and Legolas entered the king's private apartments.

Arwen looked up with a joyful smile at her husband and his friend. "Legolas. You are home safe!"

"Was there any doubt of that?" Legolas said, flashing her his warmest smile.

"Of course not," Aragorn chimed in heartily.

"So my dear husband has assured me, repeatedly over these past months," Arwen said, giving Aragorn a look. She paused and peered at Legolas keenly. "Legolas -- have you colored your lips?"

" _Nuath_!" Legolas muttered, rubbing his mouth with the heel of his hand.

Legolas had known Elrond's daughter for all the long years of his immortal life, and she had always been beautiful, yet never had he seen her more lovely than now, in the fulfillment of motherhood. The Lady Undomiel glowed with a light that surpassed that of the First Born or even the Maiar of whom she was descended. _'If ever I have cause to doubt my decisions in life or the wisdom of my counsel,'_ Legolas told himself, _'I shall remember this moment, when Arwen held her first child in her arms.'_

"Her name is Araniel. Would you like to hold her, Legolas?" Arwen said.

Among the Elves, babies were a rare and precious thing. Legolas had little experience with them, and he almost feared to handle the child, lest he crush the fragile life entrusted to him. Yet, as he took the baby he felt the durable strength of her, the power of her young spirit. The child was warm and soft, and comfortingly solid against his chest.

This was how grandparents must feel, he told himself as he cuddled Aragorn's firstborn. He saw the look of young Estel in the fringe of dark hair, and he gasped as grey eyes looked up into his own. " _Rodyn_!" he exclaimed. "She will grow up to take after her grandmother!"

"My mother had silver hair," Arwen said with a soft laugh.

"No," said Legolas. "I meant her other grandmother."

Aragorn smiled sadly back at him. "I think you are right, my friend."

As he looked down at this tiny scrap of girl child, it seemed to Legolas that he stood outside of time and could see all the moments of her life, strung together like beads on a necklace; the chubby infant, the laughing little girl, dark pigtails flying, the lovely young woman discovering love for the first time and soon cuddling her own babies, the crone that she would be when age and time took her as it must with all mortal things. Blinking back the sudden tears that prickled his eyes, he thought, _'Will you break my heart too, just as did your granddame_?'

As if to answer, young Araniel turned her head to nuzzle Legolas's chest and began to make soft fussing noises. "Oh dear," he laughed. "I think this is something that only _Nana_ can provide."

"It is indeed time for her to be fed," said Arwen, holding out her arms. "Let me have her."

Legolas shot her a saucy grin. "I don't suppose you would allow me to stay and watch?"

Arwen blinked in momentary surprise and then gave Legolas what he was coming to think of as her Elrond look. "You've changed," she said.

"For the better, I hope," chuckled Legolas, handing the baby over. "Did not you, yourself, say that I was always too serious for my own good?"

"That remains to be seen," she said, casting Aragorn a look that made the mighty king of Gondor fidget like a small boy caught stealing jam from the kitchen. 

"Peace, Arwen," said Legolas. "Thranduil's little boy had to grow up eventually."

"I knew it could only be a matter of time," Arwen said, continuing to fix him in her piercing gaze. "But mind you do not take after your father too much." 

"There is little chance of that," Legolas laughed. " _Adar_ is one of a kind." He bent to lay a gentle kiss on her brow. "Arwen, dearest, believe me when I say this. Aragorn is a very lucky man." 

"Yes, indeed," she said; "a very lucky man who will learn to listen more to the counsel of his wife in the future. If he knows what is good for him. Now, shoo, you two. My daughter is hungry."

"Curse it, she had just let me out of the dressing room, too," Aragorn said, as the two of them left the private royal apartments. "What has gotten into you? I swear, Legolas, if I did not trust you like a brother . . ." 

"Given that I have known your foster brothers for longer than you have and they are both all talk when flirting with the ladies, I shall not take that amiss," Legolas laughed.

Aragorn smiled back. "Do you plan to stay with us a while or return to Ithilien immediately?"

"Neither, for I think Glavras has things well in hand and my realm can do without me for a while longer," Legolas said, thinking sadly that the day would come all too soon when Ithilien would have to do without him altogether. "I will take a day or two to rest myself and then journey on to Aglarond. Gimli and I are long overdue for a talk."

"You will take it easy on the dwarf, I hope," Aragorn said. "He is very fond of you, you know, and he was correct about you being the right one for this job. I doubt anyone else could have pulled it off successfully."

' _More correct than you know,'_ Legolas thought wryly. "Have no fears, Aragorn. I shall be gentle with the poor fellow. I plan to teach him to play chess, among other things. And it will be good to drink ale and pass time underground again." Legolas sighed. "Gimli has managed to teach me that the years flow by rapidly, and if you will not when you may . . ."

"You shall not when you will," finished Aragorn, smiling at the familiar tavern song.

"Quite so, my friend," said Legolas. "And believe me, I shall . . ."

* * *

On the eve of his departure for Rohan, Legolas stood, bare to the waist, staring into the gilded looking glass of Aragorn's guest chamber. The tattoo of the Elessar on his chest, the final vestige of his life among the _bêthnari_ , reflected back at him.

The Haradrim had seen the mark as a symbol of fealty -- indeed, as a sign of ownership, and that was distasteful enough. Legolas could hear his father's voice speaking sternly in his mind: _'You are a prince of the Grey-elves. You are no Adan's vassal!'_

Truly, Legolas was not Aragorn's vassal, nor his property, and Estel did not see him that way. Yet, the mark meant something far more.

Aragorn could not have understood what he asked when the plan had been made to put it there, nor could he have guessed at the meaning. For Aragorn had seen Thranduil's marks, so studiously ignored by the other elves of the Woodland Realm should they be spied by accident on the practice field or in the bath, and he had thought them no more than decoration. But Legolas knew that they meant far more; should he take the time to learn and study the strange _Avorren_ runes, he might learn the secret spirit-name of his own mother.

 _'Oh, Estel, little did you know, raised as you were among the Golodhrim,'_ Legolas thought. For among the Silvan folk, a tattoo on the left breast signified the heart's desire, reserved for the name of a beloved spouse or bonded lover. To bear such a mark was a private thing, a sacred thing.

' _Why does it frighten you so, to wear the mark of the Elessar?'_ said a small voice in his head. _'Do you fear it hits too close to a truth you dare not admit, even to yourself?'_

"I fear nothing," Legolas muttered. He had faced demons in Harad, and he had come through the fire, while not entirely unscathed, stronger and wiser for it. No matter what fate might send his way in the future, Legolas knew that he would endure. And yet, should he set his mind to the conundrum until the very end of all things, Legolas doubted that he would ever sort out his confused feelings for Aragorn.

Legolas picked up his sharp hunting knife, watching the blade glint in the candlelight as he brought it to his chest. In the glass, he beheld his own flawless elven skin, the scars of all his old wounds having disappeared without a trace, leaving no mark and no memory. A brief moment of pain, some blood shed, and Aragorn's mark would be gone as well. Within a few years it would be as if it had never existed. "Forgive me, Estel," he sighed.

And yet, as he pressed the sharp point of the blade against his skin, he could not bring himself to it. Thranduil's marks, set in magic and protected by ancient spell, did not fade. Already, Legolas could see that the Gondorian ink, so bright when first applied and pricked into his skin, had begun to pale and blur. Most likely, it would not outlast the man himself. Such a short time . . .

"I am no man's vassal," he whispered softly. But as he said the words, he knew that there were many kinds of love and many different ways of expressing it. "I am Legolas Thranduilion, Prince of the House of Oropher, lord of my own realm, friend and protector to the House of Elessar Telcontar and all in it. And this is my bond."

Smiling sadly, Legolas put down his knife. Tomorrow, he would ride to Aglarond.

* * * * * * *

 _The End_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> **Translations:**  
>  _Nuath_ : Shadows   
> _Rodyn_ : Valar, the gods  
>  _bêthnari_ : courtesans  
>  _Avorren_ : Avarin  
>  _Golodhrim_ : Noldor  
>  

**Author's Note:**

>  **Translations:**  
>  _Ai núath!:_ Sindarin for Oh shadows!  
>  _bêthnaru:_ Adunaic for 'conversation man' or courtesan


End file.
